


a delicate condition

by Jelly



Series: delicate [2]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Established Rayllum, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 80,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly
Summary: They’re in the elven city of Lantha when Rayla realizes that something’s off.[Or the follow up toa delicate arrangementthat no one wanted].





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I still have prompts to fill ~~jesus~~ but I had a lot of fun with ADA and there was an implication at the end that surprised _even me_ when I wrote it, and I wanted to address it in a separate fic. 
> 
> Again - no one wanted this. I'm just having fun! :D
> 
> **ALSO before I forget - I started a debate on the Rayllum discord yesterday, and I knew what I was doing but I did it anyway - SORRY TEAM. This is my formal apology to you all hahaha**

_part one_

 

 

 

i.

 

They’re in the elven city of Lantha when Rayla realizes that something’s off.

The wedding’s in two weeks. She's needed at home for some final preparations; Lantha’s on the way and, in any case, they want Callum in town to discuss the idea of what a curriculum might even look like if the mages here took on human apprentices. It’s as convenient a rest stop as any, and given the waves of nausea that keep washing over her, Rayla is (a lot) grateful for the opportunity to stop for a day or two before the rest of the ride home.

They’d ridden into city a few days ago. The Council of Elders had offered them rooms at one of the finer inns closer to the centre of the city, and, too nauseous to argue for a single one, Rayla had handed Vorobey off to Callum and hurried inside and to throw up in the nearest bathroom.

It was probably nothing, she’d told herself as she gagged into the bowl. It wouldn’t have been the first time Callum’s fireside cooking had made her sick to her stomach, and the fish he’d fried up the other night did taste a little funny towards the middle. What’s weird is the fact that they’ve been here three days and she’s sick _still_.

“I _really_ think you should see a healer,” says Callum. There’s concern in his frown as he holds her hair back and rubs a hand against her shoulder. He’d spent the night in her room and had come after her when she climbed out of bed this morning to heave into the toilet.

“Or you could _never_ cook again,” grumbles Rayla. She takes in a shuddering breath and shifts a little, putting her weight against the wall to her left with a groan.

Callum wrinkles his nose at her. “I ate that fish too. _I’m_ not throwing up.”

“Maybe you’ve just got an immunity to your own cooking.” She smirks at him, despite herself, enjoying the playful little scowl that crosses his face before the nausea hits her again and she scrambles onto her knees to retch into the bowl.

“I think you should take the day off, Ray.”

“‘M fine,” groans Rayla. She wipes off her mouth with the back of her hand and settles against the wall again, her eyes shut and her breaths shallow as she tries to will the nausea away. “I just need a minute.”

He makes a face at her. “Rayla.”

“No.”

“ _Rayla._ ”

“I’m _fine_ , Callum,” she snaps. It comes out harsher than she intends, and she relents. “Sorry. You shouldn’t be out by yourself. You’re the Prince of Katolis.”

He snorts at her. “Also an Archmage who forged his own connection to all six primal sources, but you know.” He brushes her hair out of her face and presses his lips to her forehead, a wordless reminder that she can tell him she’s fine all she likes, but he’ll worry anyway because he loves her that much.

It makes her smile and it settles her breathing, even as nausea builds in her throat once more. She forces it away. “I know things are different now,” she manages at last. “But I’ll feel better if I can be with you.”

“And I’ll feel better if you go and see a healer,” he says pointedly. He settles in front of her, his back against the opposite wall, his knees close enough to her that she leans over to rest her cheek against his patella. “I’ll cut you a deal. If you come with me today and you’re still nauseous after this meeting, you _have_ to go and see someone about it, okay?”

His concern for her is sweet; his eyes so green and so earnest that she sighs, nods, and picks herself up off the bathroom floor. “Okay,” she says at last, holding an arm out to help him. “But _only_ if I’m still nauseous. Fair?”

He smiles. “Fair.”

 

x

 

She’s a bit paler than usual, Callum thinks, but she’s otherwise fine by the time they get to the university. He tries not to worry about it too much - Rayla’s the strongest person he knows, and she’s not about to let a stomach bug get her down - but still, he watches her out of the corner of his eye before their meeting with the university scholars, and during, only sort of paying attention to their concerns.

“I am… uncomfortable with this, Prince Callum,” one of the scholars - Saria, Callum thinks her name is, is saying. “Allowing humans to study magic is one thing, but allowing them access to our primal stones -”

“Is a necessary part of allowing humans to learn magic,” finishes Callum sternly. “Gatekeeping magic is what made humans turn to Dark Magic in the first place, and it’s unreasonable to expect _anyone_ to be limited to the theoretical aspects of magic. Practical application is what that theory is _for._ ”

Saria makes a face, clearly still wary of the idea. “Our primal stones take a great deal of magic and experience to create. We can’t be expected to just give them away.”

“So let your human apprentices earn them,” says Callum. “Assist them in making their own as a sort of… graduation. From theoretical magic to practical magic. If they don’t forge their own connection with the primal first.”

Saria and her peers pause. They look surprised, but not averse to the idea, and Callum glances at Rayla from the corner of his eye and finds himself pleased by the proud little smile on her lips.

“We’ll consider it,” says Saria, at last.

Callum nods, happy with today’s progress.  “I can submit an official proposal to you by tomorrow,” he says. “Thank you for your time today.” He gets to his feet - beside him, Rayla does the same, her smile falling just a little as she sways on the spot. He pauses. “Rayla?”

She shakes her head at him. “It’s fine,” she mutters quietly. Her voice cracks and she pales a little more. “I’m fine.” Then her knees buckle and she crumples, and Callum yelps, panic and terror flooding his system as he catches her in his arms before she hits the ground.

 

x

 

She wakes in a cot in a room she doesn’t recognize with a bit of cotton taped to her arm, and Callum, frowning over her on the chair by the bed. She’s nauseous again, and she groans, her head spinning as she tries to sit up.

“You said you were okay,” grumbles Callum, his concern furrowing his brow as he reaches forward to steady her. He gets up and settles on the cot next to her, resting a hand on her knee as he studies the palour of her face.

“I thought I was,” mumbles Rayla. She shuts her eyes tight and rubs at her temples, her jaw clenched shut as she forces the bile rising in her throat to stay down.

The door opens - Rayla winces at the sound - and an elf in healer’s robes strides into the room and shuts it behind him. His skin is pale - paler than Rayla’s, even - his hair dark, his eyes silver and serious, but he offers them both a kind smile as he takes a seat in Callum’s vacated chair. “Your Highness,” he says to Callum, bowing. “And - My Lady, I suppose, but I’ve been told you just prefer ‘Rayla’.”

“You were told correctly,” says Rayla, a little hoarsely.

“Of course,” says the healer. “I have some news. Would you prefer if we spoke in private?”

Rayla shakes her head. “This is fine. If it’s anything serious, he’s going to find out anyway.”

“It really depends on what you call serious,” chuckles the healer. “If I might ask - how long ago was your last cycle?”

Rayla stares at him, mostly because she’s unsure. A while ago, she thinks - but she hasn’t really been keeping track. Things have been busy - there’ve been a flurry of meetings since the beginning of the month, and the closer things get to the wedding, the less time she has to think about something as inconsequential as her monthly bleeds. But the question startles her, because it can only really be relevant if -

Rayla pales. He can’t be saying - but they’d been so _careful_ and - it would make a lot of sense, but _surely_ she can’t be -

The healer must see the conclusion come together on her face, because his smile softens, understanding of the panic welling in her chest. Beside her, Callum only frowns more, the connection not quite as obvious to him as it is to her.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Is something wrong? Is - is she okay?”

The healer offers him what Rayla thinks is supposed to be a reassuring smile, before he leans forward in his chair and looks her in the eye. “You’re pregnant, Rayla,” he says gently.

It’s worse hearing it in actual words. The room spins again, and for a moment, Rayla thinks she might faint a second time, but Callum’s hand grips hers tight, and she forces herself to focus on the healer.

“She’s what?” breathes Callum, blinking.

“Pregnant,” the healer tells them. He grins toothily at him, obviously unphased by any and all of the implications running rampant through Rayla’s head. “With - I can only assume - your child, Your Highness. You’re having a baby.”

Callum’s shoulders slump. He pales, and then flushes, and then pales again in such quick succession that Rayla wonders if he might faint too.

She wouldn’t blame if he did.

She thinks she might herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts filled:
> 
> From an anon on tumblr: Rayla discovers pregnancy


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’ll be a quick nine months,” the healer says, looking genuinely happy for them. “It’ll feel like no time at all.”

ii.

  


Seven weeks, the healer says, but Rayla hardly hears him. She stares at her knees the whole time, the concept barely grasped, the wholeness of it so large that she’s unsure where to even begin. She’s never missed her tea - or at least, she doesn’t think she ever has - and while, in her head, she’s always known that no contraception method is fool proof, the idea that there’s life growing within her now is -

It’s terrifying.

Beside her, Callum is wordless. He holds her fingers tight within his, his jaw clenched and his knuckles white, looking entirely dumbstruck by the news.

The healer ends up talking _at_ them, rather than to them, his voice gentle and understanding of their half-attention. He puts a bottle of vitamins and a bottle of antiemetic draught into Rayla’s hands - she’s to take a sip of each once a day, he tells her; the first to keep up her own health as well as the baby’s, the second to ease the nausea until it settles by itself in a few weeks. He gives Callum a wad of notes - frequently asked questions, he’s told, and ways he might be able to help her when he’s not sure what else he can do. He gives them both a list of what to expect over the next nine months; tells Rayla that she should feel the baby quicken in her fifth month, and Callum that he should be able to feel it move in her sixth; advises them to see a healer or a midwife if anything doesn’t go accordingly, no matter how miniscule they think the issue is; and when it feels like he’s talked himself hoarse, he smiles and congratulates them both. “It’ll be a quick nine months,” he says, looking genuinely happy for them. “It’ll feel like no time at all.”

He means to reassure them, Rayla thinks, but the idea of a _quick nine months_ only scares her more.

The world is still spinning when she hops off the cot, and Callum steadies her, his grip warm and tight, but not as comforting as she wishes it could be. She holds it together until they get back to her room at the inn, where she tears her hand from his and makes a beeline for the bathroom to throw up once more.

Callum follows her, easing her bangs out of her face without complaint as she heaves into the toilet. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, although his voice shakes and ruins the facade of his composure. “The healer said this was normal. You’re okay.”

Rayla groans. Her own terror in combination with being sick makes it hard to breathe, her heart hammering so quickly and so heavily in her throat that she can’t keep up. She shudders, even as Callum rubs his hands across her back; even as he whispers words of comfort to her as she all but sobs into the bowl. “I can’t do this,” she manages hoarsely.

“Yes, you can,” he says gently. “It’ll pass.”

She shakes her head. The bile burns in her throat. Her breathing is heavy and laboured as she tries to force herself to settle, but the very idea of the child growing in her belly puts her nerves into a frenzy. She slumps against the seat, her forehead pressed into her arms, tears leaking unpermitted from her eyes. “I can’t be _pregnant_ , Callum,” she rasps, her panic getting the better of her. “We’re not even _married_ \- we’ve barely even _talked_ about having kids - and I can’t - I don’t know that I -”

“Hey - hey, it’s okay.” He shifts onto his knees behind her and presses a kiss into her shoulder. His hands are shaking too, she thinks - or perhaps that's just her. “The wedding’s only two weeks away,” he says, “and even if it wasn’t, I’d never _leave_ you to do this by yourself. This was always a possibility, and - I dunno, I always thought we’d have them later but this isn’t so bad.”

Rayla shakes her head a second time and stifles a groan in her arms. “I can’t be a mother,” she whispers. “I don’t know _how_.”

“What do you mean? You’re great with kids! Look at how much Lessa loves you!”

“This is different.” She swallows, her eyes shut tight as another wave of nausea washes over her. “Lessa’s not _ours_ . This - this baby -” She pauses, the words foreign and unfamiliar on her tongue. “ _Our_ baby - Callum, what if - what if we mess it up? What if _I_ mess it up? I don’t know that I can be a _mother_ and - and -”

“Hey.” He kisses her shoulder once more, a breathy chuckle ghosting across her skin as he slips a hand around her waist and rests it low on her belly. “I’m scared too,” he says finally. It’s an admission for her as much as it is for him, and Rayla finds herself grateful for the way he doesn’t expect her to say it out loud herself. “The fact that - that our _baby_ is growing inside of you right now - gods, Rayla, I’m _terrified_ \- but I trust you, and I love you, and there’s no one I’d rather do this with than you.” He pauses, and when she doesn’t gag again, he wraps her in his arms entirely and presses a kiss into her cheek. “We’re gonna be fine,” he promises. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

She hiccoughs, but her breathing steadies when her fingers find his. She shifts a little and finds her eyes drawn to her belly. She stares at it for the longest time, their hands joined and resting over it, his mother’s ring glinting on her finger in the pale light -

She’d never known her own mother. Not really. Her parents had been whisked off to defend Zym’s egg before she’d ever had the chance, and maybe _that’s_ why she’s so scared now. But Callum’s warmth and his faith in her is comforting. She lets out a shaky sigh, exhausted by the news, and by the nausea that feels as if it’s finally, _finally_ settled, before she allows Callum to help her off the bathroom floor and walk her to bed.

He pulls off her boots for her and unclasps her belt, his hands pausing at her abdomen on their way past. Awe flashes in his eyes, and, too late, Rayla realizes how strange it must be for him to know that his child is growing within her womb. He presses a kiss to her there, over her shirt and coat, his smile nervous and scared and excited all at once before he eases her into bed and presses the vial of antiemetic draught into her hand. “Take some now,” he says. “I’ll get you some water, and then I think you should take the rest of the day off.”

Rayla shakes her head, afraid of the idea of him being alone in an elven city and of the idea of being alone with her thoughts, but he shushes her with a kiss against her knuckles.

“I won’t go far,” he tells her. “Just to get you some water, and then I’ll come straight back to look after you.”

There’s a part of Rayla that wants to object. She can look after herself, thank you very much, but she eyes the bottle, and the vitamins, and the wad of notes on the desk by the window, and then, at last, her own abdomen, before she’s reminded of the fact that she’s _pregnant_ and she almost makes herself sick again.

“Will you really?” she murmurs, uncharacteristically vulnerable as she unstops the vial.

Callum offers her a smile. It’s still nervous, and for the first time, Rayla realizes that he’s just as scared of this she is, but it’s warm, and it comforts her nonetheless. “Always,” he promises. “Get some rest. I’ll be here.”

 

x

 

Either she’s exhausted and she needs it, or the antiemetic draught has some sort of sedative in it because Rayla passes out almost immediately after she takes it. Either way, Callum spends the rest of the afternoon sitting at the desk in her room, keeping watch over her as he tries to write his proposal for a curriculum for the scholars at the university. He’d told them it’d be done by tomorrow, he remembers, but as hard as he tries to concentrate, his mind wanders away from his work at every opportunity, and he doesn’t need to be a genius to understand why.

They’re having a baby.

They’re having a _baby._

Callum had forgotten to think about the concept for himself in his effort calm her down. It’s only now, as he stares at the notes on the desk that the realization hits him with its full force.

 _They’re_ having a _baby_ and while he can say he was legitimately terrified when the healer had told them, it’s nothing compared to now. _Now_ , all he can think about is the life growing in her belly; the danger of losing it, and of losing her; of what it would mean to raise a half-elf, half-human child in a world that’s _still_ not readily accepting of elf-human relations to begin with; of his ability to raise it _at all._ He’s nineteen. Rayla’s barely twenty. Their wedding is in two weeks, and they’re barely prepared for _that_ , let alone _raising a child_ , but despite it all - despite the fear and the anxiety that fills his chest at the thought of it, there’s a part of him that wants to be excited.

He’d never imagined a version of his future without children and, as terrified as she is, Callum doesn’t think Rayla’s ever imagined a future without them either. They’d just never imagined they’d be expecting one so soon.

He wonders what it might look like - if it’s a girl or a boy, and if he or she might have his eyes and her hair, or his hands and her smile. He turns to his sketchbook, in the end, his work forgotten as he draws - not the child (there are too many possibilities for him to even fathom at this point), but Rayla as she sleeps, her hand resting absently against her abdomen as if she’s already protective of the life growing within it.

It makes him smile.

 _They’re having a baby_ , he reminds himself, and it doesn’t feel like so scary a thought now. Maybe it’s the way Rayla curls in on herself - her instinct to protect it present even in her sleep. Maybe he’ll be the same - maybe his own concerns will disappear if he just allows his own instinct to protect her and the baby help him in being a _dad_.

 _Gods_ , it’s a scary thought. Him. A _dad_.

But it’s exciting too, and he hopes that, when Rayla wakes, he’ll find a way to convince her of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe how supportive you guys are of this already. ALL RIGHT. FINE. I'LL WRITE THE THING. Can't guarantee I'll do it as fast as I did ADA but I'll do my best!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can ride fine,” she hisses. “I can make it home without your help. I’m not an invalid.”

iii.

  


They stay in Lantha a few more days.

Rayla sleeps for most of it, much to her chagrin, but between throwing up every couple of hours and sleeping the day away, it’s not hard to figure out which she prefers.

Callum spends the time watching over her. He leaves once - to drop his proposal off at the university, declining invites for tours and cancelling meetings in favour of getting back to the inn as quickly as possible. When people ask, he tells them Rayla’s sick, and they believe him because word has gotten around of her fainting spell the other day. _That_ makes him grimace because he knows Rayla won’t take kindly to it - it’s a weakness, and weakness is not something she’s ever been proud to show.

He’s glad their business is almost done here. She’ll be more comfortable at home.

He writes when he can and draws when he can’t, and the wad of notes the healer gave them is crumpled and creased now from the eight or nine times he’s already read through them just these past few days. He brings her clear soup and fresh bread from the kitchen downstairs - plain foods; nothing too aromatic that it might turn her stomach even _with_ antiemetic draught - he’d brought her stew that first night, and just the smell had forced her into the bathroom once again - but on the day they’re due to leave, she forgoes the draught entirely, determined to ride home on her own.

She’s a little green still, and a lot unsteady when she climbs onto Vorobey, but her jaw is set, her lips pressed into a stubborn line as she shakes the reigns and eases the filly onto the road.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Callum asks, nudging his own mare, Kuritsa, into step with her.

Rayla nods. “I’m fine,” she says stiffly. “It’s only a day’s ride.”

“I know, but -”

“I’m _fine_ , Callum,” she says sharply. She gives him a _look_ , her face hard and obviously wanting nothing more than for this conversation to be over, and Callum sighs and says nothing else.

She keeps her eyes on the horn of her saddle, he notices, Vorobey’s reigns wrapped so tightly around her hands that the leather cuts into her skin. Her shoulders are tense, her back ramrod straight, her knees bent at a sharper angle than they’re supposed to be - Rayla’s a graceful rider on most days, but today, she’s wearing all the signs of someone afraid they might fall off their horse, and Callum would know because he used to be routinely guilty of all of them.

Vorobey’s always been a clever horse; attuned to the way she rides and anticipating of what she means her to do, but even _she_ seems uncomfortable with tension in Rayla’s muscles. Her movements are jerky and awkward, and it only makes Rayla grip her reigns tighter still.

They’re crossing a field of Moon Lillies a couple of hours from Lantha when the filly nickers and tosses her head. It’s an attempt for _some_ slack in her reigns, but Rayla yelps and does the next _worst_ thing, her hands flying into Vorobey’s mane and forming fists in the hair.

Callum’s reaction is automatic. A fall from that height would be dangerous for anyone, let alone someone who’s _pregnant_ \- and he slides off Kuritsa and scrambles in front of Vorobey; seizes the reigns around her neck to give her the slack that she needs, and mutters words of comfort to her until Rayla steadies herself enough to get to the ground safely.

She falls to her knees looking like she might be sick again, but she doesn’t gag. She just breathes.

It can’t be easy, Callum thinks. She must feel _awful_ but there’s nothing to do but wait for it to pass. He takes a skin of water off the edge of Kuritsa’s saddle and hands it to her, dropping into the space at her side, wanting to offer comfort but not knowing how. In the end, he puts a hand on her knee and sighs. “You’re okay,” he murmurs,  more to himself than to her. “Take your time. You’re okay.”

Rayla says nothing at first. She’s still trying to breathe the nausea away, the skin halfway to her lips before she manages to actually drink from it. “I’m fine,” she croaks at last. “I just - I need a minute. I don’t need you to hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” says Callum quickly. “I’m just worried about you.”

“Well, _don’t_.” Her tone is short, clipped in a way that makes Callum wonder if he’s done something wrong.

“Hey,” he starts, frowning, a little unsure where her animosity might be coming from. “I just want you to be okay.”

“I _am_ ,” she snaps. She gets up, skin still in hand, wobbling dangerously as she does and it only makes her scowl more. “I can get home on my own. I don’t need you worrying over me.”

Callum steadies her, both out of habit and out of concern, but she shrugs his hand off her shoulder and clips the skin back onto Kuritsa’s saddle. When she turns to mount Vorobey again, the filly brays and shifts away from her, still bothered by how tightly Rayla had pulled at her reigns. She huffs, frustrated, and when she reaches for her a second time, she’s _much_ less gentle.

The filly resists - tries to pull away from her, unused to the coarseness of her movements and growing more agitated the more frustrated Rayla gets. Callum senses the danger before it gets there - “Rayla, that’s enough, you’re scaring her!”  - and he puts himself between them, easing the reigns from Rayla’s fingers and giving Vorobey some room.

She scowls at them both, but its ferocity is lost in the way her face falters, a wave of nausea crossing her features once more.

“Rayla, come on, you need to take it easy -”

She snarls at him. “I can ride _fine_ ,” she hisses. “I can make it home without your help. I’m not an _invalid._ ”

Understanding dawns on him, and he puts his hands on her shoulders and ducks his head so he can look her in the eye. She’s frustrated, he realizes. She just wants to go home; to savour what privacy she can before the wedding throws them into the spotlight for the entire world to see and before this pregnancy starts a scandal in the more conservative parts of the human kingdoms. She’s sick of feeling tired from the antiemetic draught, and tired of feeling sick without it; she's angry that she can’t even ride home without feeling like she might fall off her own horse; and, most of all, she's so, _so_ scared of everything this pregnancy implies because she’s been too sick or too sleepy to even talk about it the way the should already have.  “No one’s calling you an invalid,” he says gently. “You can absolutely make it home on your own, I have no doubt in that, but we can slow down a little, okay? We’ll get there - we _will_ \- but just - just take a minute to rest. If not for you then - for the baby.”

 _That_ stops her. She looks away, a grimace on her lips, guilty and uncertain and terrified, all at once. She says nothing for a while, and when she does, it’s little more than a murmur. “We should get going. It’ll be nightfall before we get there if we don’t make a move.”

Callum frowns at her. “Rayla - wait - can we just talk about this for a second?”

“Not right now,” she mutters. “I just want to go home.”

 

x

 

He lends her Kuritsa.

The mare is gentler, and rather more forgiving than Vorobey, and afterwards, Callum leaves her to herself. She’s not mad at him - she’ll make that clear to him later, she promises herself - he has every right to worry over her and to want to hover, but there’s a lot on her mind right now, and more than anything, she just needs space and time to think.

It’s not that she doesn’t want children. She loves Callum with all her heart, and there's always been children in the futures she’s imagined with him.

She’s just not sure that she’s ready for _this_ one.

They ride in silence for most of the day. Twice, Rayla steers them off the road to take a breather, but she doesn’t throw up anymore which can only be a good sign. It’s a little too optimistic to hope that the nausea’s settling on its own already, but she hopes anyway.

It’s dusk when they cross under the gates of Cyra.

The familiar domed roofs and the moon carvings are a relief to her, and while her people are still wary of Callum, they’ve grown used to his presence. At least here, the stares aren’t so bad. Her stomach turns as she hops off Kuritsa - not because of the baby, but because of the odd sort of anxiety building in her system.

“What are we going to tell them?” she asks Callum at last, as he follows suit and climbs off Vorobey.

Callum blinks at her, but his lips tilt upwards, altogether pleased that she’s talking again. “Nothing, if you don’t want them to know yet. The - the healer said to avoid telling people until after twelve weeks anyway.”

She snorts to herself. “I think you might have been paying better attention than me, honestly.”

“That, and I’ve read those notes about a million times now.” Tentatively, he reaches for her hand. “Are we okay?”

“We were always okay,” mutters Rayla, and she presses a kiss into the back of his hand for good measure. “I’m sorry about earlier. I’m just - I’m a little -”

“It’s okay,” he chuckles. “You don’t have to say it. I know.” The smile he offers her then is comforting, and he squeezes her hand and pulls her close. Vorobey and Kuritsa follow them, both horses familiar enough with the path to her uncles’ home to wander after them even without guidance. “I know you’re not ready to talk about it just yet," he says after a minute, "but… when you are, I’ll be here, okay? Please, just… take it easy. I don’t want anything to happen to you. _Either_ of you.”

Something about the way he says it warms her, and she smiles, in spite of herself. At least she knows _he’ll_ be a fantastic father. He’s far too loving and considerate to be anything else. “I’ll be okay,” she says finally. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I will anyway,” he says with a grin. “You know that.”

 

x

 

It’s Tinker who greets them. It’s an odd nickname to Callum, but it’s familiar, and it’s nice that Tinker thinks of him as family enough to insist that he use it too. He’s always been the nicer one, but that's not something he'll admit out loud.

His smile wide as he pulls Rayla into a hug. “Took your time, didn’t you?” he teases. “We were expecting you earlier.”

Rayla grimaces a little at that - they _would_ have arrived earlier, if they weren’t riding so slow, and if she hadn’t pulled them over twice to catch her breath - but Tinker doesn’t need to know that.

To Callum, he adds, “Your Highness,” with a low bow, and Callum grins sheepishly and holds up both hands.

“You know you don’t have to do that.”

“Formality dictates that I do,” he says impishly. He ushers them both into the cottage and closes the door after them with a gentle _thunk._ “We should get used to it, in any case. We’ll be bowing to Rayla in a week’s time.”

“Don’t even joke,” says Rayla drily.

“It’s no joke, Princess.”

“ _Tinker._ ”

Tinker laughs, taking Callum’s pack from him and setting it on a chaise in the living room. “Runaan’s upstairs, if you want to go and get him for dinner. The two of you must be famished. Your Highness, if you could help me with the table, I’d very much appreciate it.”

“Sure,” says Callum, a little awkwardly. Tinker’s always been welcoming, but it’s still weird to be left in the room with either him or Runaan without Rayla to act as a buffer. This visit is supposed to be quick - they’re to set off again in the morning, all four of them, because Runaan wants to visit the Moon Nexus with Rayla as part of a tradition before her wedding, but it’s not until Callum smells Xadian onions that he realizes the problem. “Say, uh, Tinker… what’d you make?”

Tinker blinks at him, bowls of stew in his hands. “Winter stew - Rayla’s favourite - why?”

“Uh -”

“Ah, the Prince.”

Callum blanches a little. He knows that drawl. He has all of a second to recover before Runaan makes himself apparent. His prosthetic arm is almost indiscernible, and Callum might not have realized that it was an illusion at all he hadn’t felt magic emanating from the charm at his belt. He smirks at him the way only a smug in-law might. “Come to whisk my protege away for good, then?”

“Only if she wants me to,” says Callum. It’s a poor attempt to be smooth, but it’s Rayla that gets him - she’s looking a bit green again, and she keeps her face carefully tilted away from both of her uncles as she presses her lips together in an effort not to gag at the smell.

Tinker’s too fast for her. “Rayla? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” says Rayla quickly. “I - um - I’m just not feeling so well. I’ll be a minute.” She ducks away before they have the chance to question her more, and Callum watches her go, wondering how long is appropriate to pretend to hesitate before he goes after her.

When they look to him for answers a moment later, he decides that’s long enough. He gets up. “She’s - uh - she’s just - a little under the weather. I’ll go and check on her.  You guys go ahead. I’ll be right back.” He hurries off too, but he waits until he hears the cutlery clinking before he sneaks back into the living room to take the antiemetic draught from his pack.

“Odd,” he hears Tinker say. “She’s never rejected Winter stew before.”

Callum winces. He hopes they haven’t already blown their cover.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve got a good one, Rayla. He just wants to take care of you. Let him. You’ll both feel better for it.”

iv.

 

They leave for the Moon Nexus just after dawn the next morning.

It would have been earlier - _should_ have been earlier, Rayla thinks; the wedding is only a week away now, and at this rate, they’ll arrive in Katolis the day of - but there’s only so much she can force herself to do. In the past, she might been able to push through it, but it’s not just her anymore, and the nausea that hits her whenever she wakes, or whenever she smells anything remotely aromatic is a constant reminder of it.

Dawn had found her dry heaving in the bathroom while Callum distracted her uncles, but there’s a part of her that thinks, especially now as she rides alongside Runaan on Kuritsa, that they might not have a secret to keep in the first place. Runaan’s not an idiot. He might not be an assassin anymore, but he’s still just as observant, and just as perceptive, and it’s a day and a half to the border still, and if he doesn’t already know now, there’s no doubt he’ll know by the time they get to the Nexus.

It’s an ancient tradition, he’d told her. In the old days, before the war, and before the border had ever come into existence, Moonshadow Elves gathered at the Nexus before weddings for… a purification ritual, of sorts. They would drink from the spring to cleanse their bodies, and pray to the Moon, and wish away the problems of their past so that they might start a future with their soon-to-be spouse entirely fresh. No one’s done it at the Nexus in millenia, being on the other side of the border and all, but given the nature of her impending marriage to Callum, it feels appropriate. She’ll be the first in a very, _very_ long time to drink from the spring immediately before her wedding, and it’s something Runaan wants to share with her in her final days as his protege - not that she’ll ever stop being his protege (like she’s told him a thousand times already), but she understands.

Runaan’s closer to a father to her than an uncle. There’d been a time, before the war ended, when they’d thought they’d lost each other, and it’s an experience that neither of them want to repeat. This is something special; something they can share without Callum - without Tinker, even. It’s only right that she’ll be the first to start the tradition again, and righter still that it’s Runaan who takes her.

It’s just a matter of whether or not she can get up the mountain without being sick to begin with.

The ride is slow. Slower than she’d like, and once or twice, Runaan and Tinker pull ahead only to have to wait for her and Callum to catch up a little while later. They study her surreptitiously - that is to say, not surreptitiously at all - and Rayla can practically feel the way they watch her when she pulls them off the road to catch her breath in the late afternoon.

Callum, for his part, does an excellent job at deflecting their questions. He tells them that he’d made dinner just before they’d arrived in Cyra and bears Tinker’s dry humour with a sheepish grin when he accuses him of trying to poison his niece. Runaan is less amused, his apprehension around Callum especially obvious so close to the wedding. She imagines it’s about the same as the way General Amaya still acts around her - not hostile at all - just a little hesitant.

They stop for the night in a little town just past the border. There are elves here, which is nice to see - healers and troops that crossed to this side of the border after the war happily mingling with human merchants and smiths. The inn that they drop into is run by a man not too much older than them who recognizes Callum immediately - “Your Highness!” he greets. “What an honour! I’m afraid my best rooms aren’t available, but if you’d like them -”

“Please don’t,” chuckles Callum. “We’re only staying the night. Any room is fine. Two if you have them.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” he says with a bow. “Can I get you anything else?”

Callum shrugs, eyeing his companions with a small smile. “Just some dinner. And -” He pauses; waits for Runaan and Tinker to turn away for a moment before he leans across the reception desk and murmurs, “Some ginger tea, if you have any.”

It takes Rayla a second to realize the significance of his request, and even then, it’s only when the innkeeper looks at her funny that she realizes what he’s told him. She ducks her head, but the innkeeper only nods and doesn’t ask questions.

He brings them their food and Rayla her tea - with it, she gets through dinner without having to leave, but grateful as she is to Callum for his thoughtfulness, she waits until they’re alone and in their room before she scowls at him and folds her arms across her chest.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” she hisses. “ _Ginger tea_? At this rate, the whole continent’s going to find out!”

Callum winces under her glare. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just - I thought it might help.”

“‘ _Thought it might help_ ’,” she mocks.

“Didn’t it?”

“I -” She falters. It _did_ help, and she realizes, for the first time in days, how cranky she’s been towards him. Callum’s been nothing but thoughtful and considerate to her since the day they found out, and she’s being unnecessarily hostile. He only wants her to be healthy. It’s his baby too, after all. She scowls, angry at herself for allowing her hormones to get the better of her, but she says nothing else to him, reluctant to admit that he’s right.

Callum sighs, far more patiently than she deserves, and takes a seat beside her. “I get that you're scared, Rayla,” he says quietly. "But I'm only trying to help. Can we  _please_ just talk about this?"

“I’d rather we didn’t,” she grumbles.

“We can’t ignore it forever, Rayla.”

“We won’t,” she says shortly. It comes out colder than she intends and she relents. “Just - after the wedding,” she says finally. “Please?”

Callum smiles at her. It’s supposed to be understanding, she thinks, but it only makes guilt settle in her stomach. He’s too nice to her. Too patient, and too kind, and too understanding of the way she’s been behaving. He presses a kiss into her knuckles. “After the wedding,” he agrees at last. “Are you going to be okay to get the Nexus tomorrow night?”

Rayla snorts at him. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Runaan’d understand, you know. They both would, if you told them.”

“Not yet,” she mutters. “Just - not yet.”

 

x

 

The innkeeper brings her more tea in the morning. He’s very sweet about it - he brings it to their door just before dawn, careful to avoid Runaan and Tinker as they make ready to leave this morning. “My wife’s the same,” he tells her quietly. “Your secret’s safe with with me, Princess.”

“Please don’t call me that,” she mumbles, but she offers him a grateful smile and takes the tea without complaint.

Things move at a better pace this morning - they leave on time, and Rayla can even ride a little faster, even if she is still riding Kuritsa. It puts them in the village at the base of the Moon Nexus in the early afternoon, and she takes a little time to catch her breath before she and Runaan make their way up to the mountain.

The illusions on the way up make her chuckle, the memory of her first time here with Callum and Ezran and Ellis and Ava still clear even after all this time. They were so young. They’d fought off that giant leech on this path. Callum had done his stupid jerkface dance over there. She pats Lujanne’s gigantic glowing spider on their way past, laughing at the way Runaan actually yelps when it jumps down from its web in front of him. “They’re just _illusions_ , Runaan,” she snickers as she leads him past.

He bristles at that, but it’s an otherwise good trip up the mountain because for the first time in days, Rayla _doesn’t_ feel sick, and she can pretend everything’s normal and fine and that she’s _not_ pregnant with a baby she’s not quite ready for. Having some space from Callum is nice too - he means well, and in all honesty, she thought he’d be worse, but the way he hovers makes the air around her feel stifling. She appreciates how much he cares, and she's grateful to him for letting her deal with this in her own time, but the time to herself is refreshing, and it’s done wonders for her mood.

Lujanne meets them at the top of the mountain, her smile genuine as she bows to Rayla. “Rayla,” she greets, “or should I say Princess?”

“ _Don’t_ ,” says Rayla sharply, but she smiles nonetheless. “You knew we were coming?”

“I wondered if you would,” she admits. “And I saw you on your way up. Come to re-establish an old tradition?”

“You bet,” chuckles Rayla. She ushers Runaan forward. “This is Runaan. Runaan, this is Lujanne, guardian of the Moon Nexus.”

“An honour,” says Runaan, inclining his head just a little.

“The honour’s all mine,” says Lujaane. “Come. I’ll show you to the spring.”

 

x

 

She leads them to a fountain, nestled between the two statues overlooking the lake. The stone is worn and ancient, the carvings in the base smoothed by millenia of running spring water. There’s a chalice sitting beneath it, tarnished with age but still gleaming in the pale moonlight as it catches the stream.

“It’s water from the lake,” Lujanne tells them. “Blessed by the Moon every month at its fullest. In the old days, they used to bathe in it - to wash away impurity like you might wash dirt off your skin. Then they would drink, to cleanse the soul and to physically imbibe the Moon’s blessing. Most people only drink, nowadays. Others have water poured over their heads and shoulders in a half version of the tradition - and not even from the spring. You’ll be the first to have that in a _very_ long time.”

“So I’ve been told,” says Rayla with a half smile. “I - uh -”

“There’s no obligation to do either,” says Runaan, anticipating her hesitation. “If you’d prefer the privacy to bathe, I can wait for you in the ruins.”

Rayla shakes her head. “The half version is fine,” she mumbles quietly.

“Of course,” says Lujanne with a smile. She motions for Rayla to step closer and takes the chalice from the base. “Runaan, if you would.”

Runaan nods. Rayla wonders if he’s done this before, because there’s surety in his words as he fills the chalice and holds it over her head. “I ask for the blessing of the Moon on this elf, my niece and protege, soon to be wed to the human Prince of Katolis. I pray their partnership is filled with love and companionship; honesty and integrity; and that the children they may have might be blessed with the same. I wash you now, with the water of the Moon, so you might enter your marriage clean and pure and whole.” He pours the water over her head, and Rayla winces as cold runs over her face and shoulders. When he’s done, he fills it again and hands it to her. “And may you drink so your soul is just as clean.”

Rayla does. The chalice is just as cold on her lips, and she shudders as the water slips down her throat. Then it’s done. Lujanne claps her hands together quietly, her smile wide and pleased, before she claps both their shoulders and disappears to fetch Rayla a towel. “Stay as long as you need,” she bids them before she goes. “It’s been a while since the Nexus has had visitors that understand its sacredness. No offense to your friends, Rayla.”

Rayla snorts at that, but Lujanne’s gone before she can offer any sort of response, and it’s just her and Runaan, alone on the bank of the caldera. A moment passes, and then another, before he leads her down to the water’s edge and takes a seat against the flat stones.

“Are you ready, then?” he asks her.

“As I’ll ever be, I guess,” says Rayla with a shrug. She joins him when he motions for her to, his eyes wistful and faraway. Perhaps he’s reminiscing on her parents’ wedding. Perhaps his own and Tinker’s. She’s not entirely sure, but there’s something unreadable there as he looks out over the lake.

“Not for the wedding,” he says. “For what comes after. The life you’re to share with your Prince and all it entails.”

Rayla’s lips twitch a little at that. “It’s not that different from what we’ve been doing already,” she admits to him. “Ezran's been calling us an old married couple since before he even arranged our marriage. We fight, and we argue, and we get on each other's nerves, but we love each other. We trust each other with our lives. There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

Runaan scoffs at her. “You’re very smitten with him, aren’t you?”

“Only as much as you’re smitten with Tinker,” she says with a smirk.

He smirks back. “I’m happy for you, Rayla,” he says quietly. “For all the jokes I make at the expense of your Prince, I’m pleased it’s him and not anyone else. He cares for you a great deal. I imagine that’s why he went out of his way this morning to ask the innkeeper where to get you more ginger tea.”

Rayla stares at him, her face pale, her heart suddenly beating wildly in her throat. “I - I - uh -”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” says Runaan. “I’m not so foolish I would expect my niece to be virginal when she’s spent so long living in such close quarters to her beloved.” He snorts and rolls his eyes at her. “You turned your nose up at Tinker’s Winter stew, and you’ve been riding your Prince’s considerably _gentler_ mare. Did you really expect me not to know?”

“I hoped you wouldn’t,” mumbles Rayla, although in all fairness, he was going to find out one way or another.

“How far along are you?”

She sucks in a breath. “Seven - eight weeks now. A little more, I think. I - I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Runaan pauses. Studies her and the little grimace on her lips with a frown before he sighs. “Your mother was the same,” he tells her mildly. “She was terrified of you. For a lot of reasons but I think most of all, she was afraid of failing as a parent. But when you came into the world, she held you as much as she could when she could, and when she couldn’t, she bade me to do it in her stead. She did her best, all things considered, and she loved you with all her heart. That’s really all anyone can do when they’re faced with the prospect of a child.”

Rayla sighs as well, he breath just shy of shaky as it leaves her lungs. “You make it sound easy,” she mutters.

“It’s not,” laughs Runaan. “Believe me, you were a handful and I don’t imagine your child will be any less. But it’s something look forward to, rather than something to be afraid of. You’re not doing it alone, after all. You’ve got your Prince.”

“Yeah,” mumbles Rayla. “I’ve been… unfair to him, lately.”

“And still, he loves you and goes out of his way to make sure you _and_ the baby will be okay.” Runaan smiles at her. “You’ve got a good one, Rayla. He just wants to take care of you. Let him. You’ll both feel better for it.”

They lapse into a pause. Rayla twiddles her thumbs and stares at her abdomen, for once not violently afraid of the life there. She puts her hand against it, wondering how big it is and how its growing, and when she looks up at last, she finds Runaan watching her fondly. “You’re taking this really well,” she tells him, a little surprised.

“How else should I take the idea of a grandchild?” he says. “Even if its father is a _human prince_.”

It comes out like a sneer, but Rayla’s not fooled. Her lips twitch into a smirk. “You don’t dislike him that much.”

“Don’t tell your Prince that,” he says. “He’s not to know that he has my approval. I rather enjoy making him nervous.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) lol this feels like a mess but I really wanted to explore Runaan's relationship with Rayla and I wanted to have a play with the idea of pre-wedding Moonshadow elf traditions. I imagine a lot of Moonshadow elves sort of felt like the Nexus being on the human side of the border was a little bit of a loss, but they're working on human-elf relations now - it only makes sense for Rayla to do a cool traditional thing to sort of reclaim it.
> 
> 2) I'm trying really hard to stop making self-deprecating jokes bc imagine my surprise when I actually convinced myself that no one was enjoying this even when your comments specifically told me otherwise!!! It made it really hard to write which is why there was a delay. I _hope_ you guys are having fun? It's a little hard to tell sometimes but I can only stay positive and push through haha


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “People spend their whole lives waiting to be ready,” Claudia tells her gently. “They never realize that they are until they’re there."

v.

 

The morning of the wedding, the nausea hits Rayla so hard that she barely even makes it to the bathroom.

They’d gotten into Katolis late last night. It was foolish of her to think she could hide something like a pregnancy from Runaan and Tinker but it meant, at least, that they were a little more understanding of the slow mornings and of the frequent stops. The ginger tea helps a little - Callum had found a tin of it in a little town on their way back to the city - and while it’s not quite as effective as the anitemetics the healer from Lantha had given them, it means she doesn’t spend the whole day too drowsy to function.

She sleeps in Callum’s room, usually - or at least she has been since Ezran made their engagement official - but she’s on the other side of the castle today. Human traditions insist that Callum’s not supposed to see her until the ceremony, which would be fine, she thinks, if circumstances were different. Right now, she’s too sick to even crawl to the doorway to ask one of the castle maids for a mug of hot water for her tea.

It’s probably a combination of things - she’s nine weeks along now, and Callum’s notes say that the nausea’s not supposed to settle for at least another month yet which, alone, makes Rayla want to want to hit something; but not only that - it’s her _wedding day_ today and she’s - understably - a little nervous. Not of the idea of spending the rest of her life with Callum - she’d happily do that in a heartbeat - but there’s a lot of pomp that goes with it that she’s not sure she’s cut out for.

She’s not exactly the most conventional choice for a Princess. The fact that she’s vomiting into the toilet because of the halfling baby in her belly is proof of that.

She’s still unsure about this but it’s a lot better than it was. Runaan’s words stick with her - she keeps them in her mind to remind herself that, Moonshadow elf or not, it’s perfectly reasonable to be scared. Her own mother was. Runaan was when he’d found out he was to take her in. Most of all, she tries to remember that she’s not doing this alone. It’s Callum’s baby too, and he’s not about to let her do it all by herself - there’s plenty of evidence of that in the way he hovers around her already. She’s trying to be a little fairer to him about it. He means well and he _has_ been helping - not so much in the way he thinks he is, but in his anticipation of the way her mood swings and in his patience and understanding of it.

She’d promised him they’d have that talk after the wedding and she’d meant it, but she’s still a little nervous around the idea. Talking about it makes it _real_ . There’s a part of her that’s still not ready; that still can’t even _process_ it, and that conversation will destroy any and all of her pretenses around the concept of her being a _mother._

It’s a terrifying thought, even now.

Someone knocks against the bedroom door, she thinks - it’s hard to tell over the sound of her own retching. “My Lady,” she hears. It’s one of the guards, probably. She doesn’t even have it in her to grimace at the title. “Are you all right?”

She tries to tell him she’s fine, but the nausea hits again and she heaves once more.

When the knocking comes again, it’s accompanied by a different voice; one more familiar and much more welcome. “Rayla?” Claudia calls, her voice muffled by the thick wood. “Can I come in?”

Groaning, Rayla picks herself up off the bathroom floor and stumbles back out into the bedroom, tripping a little over her own feet as she goes. She opens the door to a grinning Claudia, two mugs of that hot-brown-morning potion in her hands, excited twinkle in her eye. Rayla imagines her enthusiasm would be infectious any other day, but the smell wafting out of those mugs makes her stomach reel, and, instead, she gags and staggers wordlessly back into the bathroom.

Claudia frowns after her, her grin faltering as she sets both mugs on Rayla’s nightstand. “Are… you okay?”

“Peachy,” mutters Rayla, her eyes shut tight as she tries to steady her breathing.

“Nerves?”

“...Sure.”

She hears Claudia let out a breath of chuckle. “I get it,” she says gently, moving to hold Rayla’s hair back for her. “But there’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re marrying _Callum_. Everything’s going to go fine.”

“Urgh.” Rayla wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand and eases back. She means to say something witty, or to thank Claudia at the very least - it’s sweet of her to be so reassuring - but there’s a little more than that on her mind right now. “It’s not him I’m worried about,” she manages hoarsely.

“What, you think the people might still be iffy about you marrying him?” Claudia waves a dismissive hand at her, a snort slipping from her lips. “Rayla, the last time someone tried to start a scandal about this, Callum punched them in the face. It’s going to be _fine_.”

Despite herself, Rayla’s lips twitch at the memory. He still has the scar on his knuckle from where he’d nicked his fist against Balan’s teeth, but it’s a scar he’s proud to have. It eases her stomach enough for her to crawl away from the toilet and to the satchel at the foot of the bed.

Claudia watches her curiously, following her back out into the bedroom and reaching for her mug. She offers Rayla the second but the sight of it makes her scowl.

“Keep that away from me.”

“Um.” Her frown deepens. “Are you sure this is just nerves?”

It absolutely _isn’t_ , Rayla thinks inwardly, but she keeps her lips pressed closed in a poor effort to keep this secret just a little bit longer. There’s suspicion growing in Claudia’s eyes already - it’s only a matter of time before she figures it out for herself. “It’s nothing,” Rayla tells her at last. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just - really nervous.”

“O… kay…” Claudia’s still frowning, but she takes a sip from her mug and shrugs. “Can… I get you anything to help or…?”

Rayla’s immediate response is almost _no_ , because there’s nothing she can do, really, but she still needs hot water and she’s not exactly in a fit state to get it herself. “Just… hot water,” she mumbles, her fingers finding the tin of ginger in her satchel.

“For, like, a bath or…?”

“Tea.”

Claudia stares at her. Her eyes have gone from suspicious to calculating - like she’s counting up all of Rayla’s symptoms and doing the math in her head. “What kind?”

“My own,” says Rayla sharply - as sharply as she can with bile still in her throat anyway. She winces, knowing how defensive she sounds, a part of her wondering how she’s ever managed to tell a lie in her life. She ducks her head, tapping her fingers against the lid of the tin, her arm buried up to her elbow in the satchel.“I’ve - I’ve got some up here. I can brew it on my own.”

“What, is it ginger root or something?”

It’s obviously a joke, and there are ways to get out of this without telling her, but Rayla looks away too quickly, and the next thing she hears is Claudia’s mug hitting the ground. Her hot-brown-morning potion splashes over her boots, spilling over the floor, the cracks in the stones filling with brown fluid, and when Rayla looks up again, Claudia looks as if she’s forgotten how to work the muscles in her face.

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes, her eyes wide, her jaw unhinged in a way that makes her look a little like a stunned fish. She takes the second mug and tosses its contents into the drain in the bathroom, washes it out with water from the pump, and ducks her head out the door. “Fill this with hot water,” she tells the nearest guard. “Don’t give me that look - would you be hesitating if it was Prince Callum who asked? Her Ladyship will be your Princess this afternoon! Don’t keep her waiting!” She hands the mug off entirely and when she pulls her head back in again, she slams the door shut after her, her eyes still wide, her back pressed against the door.

As sick as she feels - as unprepared for this pregnancy as she is - Rayla can’t help the sardonic little smirk that tugs at her lips.

“Does Callum know?”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

Rayla looks away again. “Nine weeks.”

A pause falls between them. Claudia’s gape turns into something more of a frown, like she’s trying to decide whether congratulations or condolences might be more appropriate. “Are you… happy about it?”

Rayla takes in a breath. “It’s complicated,” she mutters. “There’s been a lot going on with - with the wedding so we haven’t really had the chance to talk about it. I -” She pauses. Studies Claudia’s face carefully before she continues. “What do you think?”

“Honestly?” The corners of Claudia’s lips tilt upwards, and she steps over the puddle of hot-brown-morning potion at her feet to take a seat next to Rayla. “I think it’s wonderful,” she says quietly. “I get it, though. I think maybe if this was just a Common Law marriage, it might be less scary, but you know how court people can be, and I think you’d be silly to not be worried about how they might react. Admittedly, I’m a little nervous for you too. But Rayla - can you imagine it? A _baby_ \- a tiny version of you and Callum - a living, breathing example of everything the two of you have been working for - gods, it’s exciting!”

“Well, I’m glad one of us thinks so,” says Rayla drily. “I’m still a little caught up on the ‘worried’ part.” She fiddles with the tin, her eyes on her abdomen, wondering what sort of world her little one might grow up in - if it’ll be dogged by rumours and scandal wherever it goes or if it might be shunned for what it is. “I’m scared, Claudia,” she admits at last, her voice barely louder than a whisper. It’s the first time she’s said those words out loud to anyone about this, and they come out in a rush. “I don’t know that I’m ready to be a mother. I don’t know that we’ll have made enough of a difference for it to grow up happy. Maybe if we’d waited - if we’d had a little more self control, things might be better.”

“People spend their whole lives waiting to be ready,” Claudia tells her gently. “They never realize that they are until they’re there. And you know what Ailas likes to say - ”

“Change doesn’t come about by waiting,” Rayla murmurs.

Claudia smiles at her - properly this time, without the nervousness on her behalf. Tentatively, she reaches over to squeeze one of Rayla’s hands, holding it tight within hers until Rayla feels her nerves settle and squeezes back. It’s amazing how far they’ve come in such a short time. They’d never hated each other - they just had a lot of differences that, once upon a time, Rayla wasn’t sure they could get past. Things are different now, and it’s not the first time Rayla’s been so grateful of her support.

“Are you okay?” she asks finally.

“Okay enough to get married today, I think,” Rayla says, breathless, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips - but her stomach churns again when she tries to get up. She groans. “Tea first, though. I’d rather not throw up on Callum.”

 

x

 

The day passes in dollops. First she’s putting on her dress - a human ball gown with elven patterns embroidered in silver on the bodice and skirt - while Claudia pins flowers into her hair. Then she’s standing next to Callum, his eyes soft as Councilwoman Opeli binds their hands. Then they’re waving at the masses, rings on their fingers shining in the afternoon sun. Then they’re in the ballroom, dancing their first dance and laughing with their friends and family. It’s altogether a _good_ day, and while Rayla doesn’t even touch the wine, she finds herself drunk on the atmosphere and the spirit of things, her smile growing wider as the night wears on.

Whenever Callum looks at her, he grins, pleased to be hers by the law of his land at last, happy to hold her close and call himself her husband in a way that makes her giggle and blush like a teenager with a crush. In all fairness, it wasn’t that long ago that she _was_ one, and as innocent and as unproblematic and unpolitical those days were, she prefers this.

When they finally get some time alone that night, after Callum helps her out of her dress and she tugs him out his suit, he puts a hand against her belly and sighs into her hair.

“I know it’s been a long day,” he whispers. “But do you think we can talk about this now?”

Rayla hesitates, but she thinks about her talk with Claudia and her talk with Runaan and laces her fingers with his. “If you want,” she murmurs.

“We don’t have to keep it.” His voice is soft - barely a whisper - and Rayla blinks, shifting in the bed to face him.

It’s not what she thought he’d open with. He wants this baby; it’s obvious in his every action and in the very way he _looks_ at her; he _wants_ this child and he’s ready to raise it, and she frowns and brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Why would you suggest that?”

He shrugs. “I know you don’t think you’re ready for it,” he tells her. “And I get it - being a dad is scary to me too, but… I just want you to know that we don’t _have_ to do it, if you don’t want to. I don’t want to force you into being a mother if you're not ready to be just yet. There are safe ways to go about it, especially this early on. If you don’t want it… just say the word.”

The thought of it is like a slap in the face. As terrified as she is, she doesn’t think she’s ever considered it. It hadn’t even _occurred_ to her that aborting this pregnancy was a possibility and now, knowing that it is - Rayla shakes her head. “We’re not getting rid of it,” she says firmly. “It’s - I don’t think getting rid of it was ever even an option.”

“Rayla, you don’t _have_ -”

“I know I don’t. But… if you’re asking me what I want, then I want to keep it.” She pauses, the words feeling new in her mouth, but strangely right - like it _is_ what she wants and she’s only just realized it. “I want to keep it,” she says again, slower this time, like she’s savouring the way it sounds in her own voice. “I’m just - I was scared, Callum. I’m _still_ scared. I’m _terrified_ of the very concept of being a mother, and of the world it might have to grow up in but… Claudia said something today that made it… less scary.”

“Claudia?” Callum raises an eyebrow at her.

“She figured it out,” Rayla tells him. “She was never _not_ going to. The morning sickness was too much of a give away.”

Callum chuckles, his lips tilted upwards in a charming smile, the green of his eyes filling with hope. “What’d she say?”

Rayla breathes in. “That people are never ready until they’re there,” she says, staring up at the canopy of their bed thoughtfully. “She’s right. I might not ever feel ready, but I won’t ever be if we get rid of it. And, more than that, it’s half _you_ . How can I want to rid the world of something half _you_?”

“I dunno, I can be pretty annoying.” He grins at her earnestly, his palm warm against her belly. “Rayla, are you _sure_ about this?”

She laughs. “Not in the least,” she says. “But I’m sure about you. _You’re_ already in love with this child, and I can only assume it’ll mean you’ll make a fantastic father. And I’m… I’m still scared, but I’m _more_ scared of the idea of not having it at all. That’s got to mean I love it too, at least a little, right?”

“I think so,” says Callum. He shuffles down in the bed awkwardly, until he’s lying on his stomach beside her, his face level with her belly. “What do you think, bubby? Think me and your mom are going to be okay parents?”

Rayla lets out a laugh, warmth blooming in her chest as Callum presses an ear to the taut skin of her abdomen. “I’m not sure you’re going to get a definitive answer any time soon, husband of mine,” she teases.

“I think you’re underestimating our baby, my darling wife.” He grins at her, pressing a kiss against her belly the way only a doting father-to-be could, his smile almost too wide for his face. “We’re having a _baby_ , Rayla.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, the terrifying, exhilarating reality of it settling in her bones at long, _long_ last. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trash over Rayla and Claudia's potential friendship fight me.
> 
> ALSO some people may have noticed that I'm no longer on the Rayllum discord: there's too many of you guys and you all move too fast for me bc I'm fucking 80 on the inside 😂😂 Sorry to disappear on you!! I just can't keep up with you all!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The _little moonbeam_ and I are going to be fine,” she promises him. “But, if it’ll make you feel better… fine. We can go talk to Ezran. Okay?”

_part two_

 

 

 

vi.

 

 

The plan is to stay in Katolis for a few weeks.

After all the running around for the wedding, and because he doesn’t think they’ve ever had a real holiday _ever_ , Callum quite frankly thinks they deserve it. They’ve worked hard these past four years, and one off day every couple of weeks isn’t much of a break. In any case, Rayla hasn’t seen anyone about the baby since that day in Lantha and knowing now that she wants it, he feels like finding a healer or a midwife they can get to know and trust is something of an imperative.

Rayla’s not the most fond of the idea. She doesn’t like being coddled, even by him, and having a stranger poke and prod at her is not at all appealing. She puts it off for as long as she can, but a week after the wedding (ten weeks into her pregnancy), the morning sickness hasn’t gone away, and the fact that she’s been living off clear soups and fresh bread is becoming concerning.

“Your notes _literally_ say this is normal,” she groans one morning. “ _You_ told me it won’t go away for another few weeks yet.”

“I just don’t know that you should be _this_ sick _this_ often,” Callum says, frowning as he holds back her hair. “Anything even a _little_ aromatic sets you off, even with your tea, and if you’re throwing up this much, there’s a pretty high chance you might not be getting the vitamins you need to keep yourself and the little one healthy.”

“I think you’re worrying too much.”

“I think you just don’t want to see a midwife.”

“Very perceptive, well done.” Rayla heaves once more, but when nothing leaves her, she shudders and leans her back against his knees. “You know what will happen if we go asking for a healer or midwife.”

Callum grimaces because he does. The castle guards and staff are notoriously bad at keeping secrets, and the very act of _asking around_ would start rumours so volatile that this baby will be public information long before they’re ready for it to be. They’ve barely been married a week. News of the Prince and Princess of Katolis looking for a midwife _already_ would be gossip too suggestive for _anyone_ to resist. Callum purses his lips. He helps Rayla off the floor and leads her back into their bedroom, brews her tea for her with magic, and puts it in her hands with a kiss to her forehead. “We should at least talk to Ezran about it. Surely there’s _someone_ on his staff who can help.”

She gives him a look, obviously reluctant to tell anyone else just yet, but he remembers (too late) that it doesn’t matter.

“He knows, Rayla,” he admits sheepishly.

“ _What_?”

“He was going to find out anyway!” says Callum. “And it’s not like I told him - he figured it out at the wedding when he realized you weren’t drinking the wine. Besides, he’s my _brother_ . He’s _your_ brother now too. He’ll want to help.”

Rayla groans, her head lolling backwards in resignation. “Is there anyone _else_ who knows?” she grumbles. “Do we have a secret to keep at all?”

“It’s just Ezran,” Callum tells her. “And Claudia, and your uncles. No one we don’t trust.” He clutches at her fingers, her hands warm from the way she’s been cupping her tea, and presses them to her lips, grinning at the way his mother’s ring gleams at him in the sunlight. “I just wanna be sure that everything’s going the way it’s supposed to be. I don’t want anything to happen to you - or the little moonbeam.”

“Moonbeam?”

His grin widens. “We’ve gotta call it _something_. I didn’t wanna start suggesting names until…” Callum pauses. His notes say that the first trimester is the riskiest - that Rayla’s first twelve weeks hold the highest chance of bleeding or miscarriage, and that they should wait until after the worst is over before they tell anyone else. He’s known about this child three weeks, and the idea of anything happening to it or Rayla is already unthinkable.

Understanding dawns on Rayla’s features, her scowl fading, her eyes softening as she studies him. She squeezes his hand back, the tiniest of smiles tugging at her lips, before she gets up and reaches for her vest and belt. “The _little moonbeam_ and I are going to be fine,” she promises him. “But, if it’ll make you feel better… fine. We can go talk to Ezran. Okay?”

“Okay.” Callum chuckles, more relieved about it than he wants to admit, and presses her fingers to his lips once more.

 

x

 

Ezran’s thrilled, obviously. He had been at the wedding, but Callum’s panic had tempered him. Even then, he’d looked ready to burst at the seams in his excitement, but _now_ , in the privacy of his study, he’s grinning from ear to ear and bouncing on the balls of his feet, because there’s only one thing this conversation can be about, and he’s very clearly ready for it to be more than just an implication.

Callum rolls his eyes, glancing at Rayla with an amused smirk, wanting to be sure that it’s okay to discuss this with Ez, even now.

She shrugs, patient little smile playing at her lips. “Go on, then,” she says.

Callum takes a breath. “So…” he begins a little awkwardly. It feels so strange to tell someone in actual words that, for a moment, he doesn’t know how to go about it. The people who know had all figured it out on their own, and they’ve never actually had to say the words “We’re,” and, “having,” and, “a baby,” in the same sentence to anyone else. But Ez waits anyway, his eyes wide, his grin wider, his entire being tense and anticipant with a joy he won’t let himself actually feel until they give them the go-ahead.

So Callum does. “We’re having a baby,” he says at last.

Ezran lets out a cry, shrill and ecstatic, laughing as he lunges at the two of them, his arms open wide to embrace them both. Callum thinks he hears something that _sounds_ like, “I’m so happy for you both!” followed by, “I can’t believe I’m gonna be an uncle!” before he remembers what they’re here for to begin with and pries his brother off of them.

“You can’t tell anyone yet,” says Rayla, her smile still just a tiny bit nervous but otherwise amused. “I’m only - um -”

“Ten weeks,” finishes Callum. “Look, Ez - we haven’t seen anyone about it since we found out a few weeks ago, but we’re not exactly ready for this to be public information just yet. We need to find a healer or a midwife we can trust who’ll be… discrete about it.”

Ez takes a second; rubs his cheeks trying to unfix his smile, but it hardly falls even as he asks his next question. “Is there anyone else who knows?”

“My uncles,” Rayla says, “And Claudia. They all figured it out,” she adds, catching his pout. “The only reason you weren’t the first to know is because you didn’t have to watch me throw up every morning. If it helps, you’re the first one we’ve actually _told_.”

“I’ll forgive you, I guess.” Ez sighs in pretend-disdain, but his grin is still wide and ridiculous. “Why don’t you go see Eleni’s midwife, then?” he offers. “There’s a clinic in the south quadrant of the city where they’re all sort of… _uniquely_ qualified, especially for this. They’re very professional. You could probably go and see them this afternoon, although, if you want to keep it quiet for a little while longer, probably don’t go together.”

Callum deflates. He’d wanted to be there. He’d wanted be there with her for all of this, even if it is just as small as her first _real_ prenatal appointment, but even more than that, she’s their _Princess_ now. He’s not stupid enough to believe that it’s safe for her to be wandering the streets of Katolis on her own, even if he knows full well that she can take care of herself. Katolis might be the most progressive city of the Pentarchy, but there’s still resistance to her presence here. There will be more when their people find out they’re expecting.

Rayla must notice the way his face falls, because she rolls her eyes and prods his cheek. “You can miss _one_ appointment, Callum.”

“That’s not it,” he grumbles. “It’s just - it’s risky, that’s all.”

She gives him a _look_ . It’s the one thing they haven’t really touched on in their talks about the logistics of being ambassadors and having a baby, mostly because he thinks Rayla doesn’t want to acknowledge it. She _doesn’t like being coddled_ , but her condition sort of requires it, and as much as she wants to believe she’s still invincible, the honest truth is that the baby is _not._ She opens her mouth to protest - Callum can already hear the words “ _I’m not defenseless, Callum,”_ long before they leave her - but Ez cuts in before they ever have the chance.

“I have an idea,” he says, sensing the way her hackles are rising. “Claudia knows, right? What if she just has the midwife meet you at _The Wishbone?_ It’s probably not the most ideal, and it means you’ll have to tell Ailas and his family, but it’ll be safe there. Plus, you’ve both been seen coming and going from Ailas’ shop enough that it won’t be suspicious if you go together.” He looks between them, understanding of both perspectives and more patient than any fourteen year old should have the right to be. “Would that be okay?”

Rayla bristles, her arms crossed over her chest, reluctant to tell _more_ people even if they are friends they know they can trust, but she knows they’re right, and in the end, she sighs. “I suppose that’d be better than waiting in a clinic,” she mutters.

“It would be,” says Ez, his grin returning. “Besides, I know you guys didn’t get to spend a lot of time with them at the wedding. It’ll be nice.”

 

x

 

It _is_ nice.

Eleni greets them at the counter with a smile, baby Terryn in a sling at her front, Lessa scampering happily out of the back room when she hears their voices in the shop. “Your Highnesses,” she says, curtseying, even as Rayla waves her off and crouches to say hi to Lessa. “Our congratulations to you both.”

“Thanks,” says Callum, looking sheepish. “Sorry to have to do this here.”

“It’s no problem,” chuckles Eleni, stepping out from behind the counter. Terryn shifts in the sling, and Callum grins, his own cluckiness getting the better of him. “We’re happy to have you here. Lessa, sweetie, you wanna give Her Highness some room? She’s gonna have a baby too.”

Lessa pauses. She steps back from Rayla, her hand slipping into her mother’s as she looks her up and down the way only a four year old could, her forehead furrowed in a confused frown. “Where are you keeping it? Is it in your belly?”

“Ah - yeah.” Rayla flushes, still a little hesitant about talking about it so frankly. “It’s very small. Smaller than you, even - it’s got some growing to do yet.”

“Can I feel it?”

“There’s nothing to feel yet, honey,” says Eleni patiently. “It’s too small, remember? Sorry,” she adds to them. “She’s been excitable since the wedding. Why don’t you two go on upstairs? Help yourselves to the tea. I’ll send Claudia and Rowena up when they get here.” She ushers Lessa forward, whispers for her to go with them, and Lessa nods eagerly, taking Rayla’s hand again to tug her up the spiral staircase into Ailas and Eleni’s apartment.

Callum follows after them, but not without booping Terryn’s tiny button of a nose on his way past. Not for the first time, he wonders what their baby might look like when it’s born, and he grins as he steps onto the landing.

“Can it be a girl?” Lessa’s asking. “I hope it’s a girl. I wanted a sister.”

“A brother’s not so bad,” says Rayla, laughing. “King Ezran and Prince Callum are brothers. Look how well they get along.

“They’re _both_ boys,” whines Lessa. “Terryn’s _okay_ , but I still want a sister.”

Rayla snorts. “No promises,” she says, shifting over in the chaise for Callum.

He joins her then, scooping Lessa into his lap to distract her from Rayla, and they’re waiting up there for maybe ten minutes before someone else steps onto the upstairs landing.

Rowena is young for a midwife - younger than them, even, but her surcoat bears the symbol of the clinic she works at, and she smiles at them and adjusts the strap of the satchel at her shoulder. “Your Highnesses,” she greets, curtseying. “My gosh, what an honour.”

“Don’t call me that, _please_ ,” says Rayla. “Thank you for coming to us.”

“It’s my pleasure, Your Highness,” Rowena says. She puts her satchel down and opens it; sets her tools out on the table with the precision of someone who’s been doing this for years, but when she turns to Rayla, she pauses, her age showing in the awkwardness of her smile. “Um - why don’t we start with some baseline things?” she says. “If - if that’s all right, Your Highness.”

She’s so nervous that Callum almost laughs. She means well, and she obviously knows what she’s doing, but it’s the fact that it’s _them_ that’s getting to her. Rayla does her best to remove that pressure, asking her twice more to stop referring to them as “Your Highnesses,” before giving up entirely with an exasperated smile and letting Rowena do as she wants.

She takes some measurements; Rayla’s current weight and blood pressure; puts her fingers to her belly with a tape measure to take a fundal height - “It’s early still, but I imagine you’ll be away again soon, so I’ll take whatever I can get now,” she tells them; records it all in a little notebook - and when she’s done, she packs her things again, sits them both down at the table, and clasps her hands in front of her.

“Everything’s looking to be where it should be,” she says happily, but her face falls just a little. “I don’t mean to scare you, Your Highnesses, but it is a dangerous time. The first twelve weeks are always the worst so it’s important you play close attention to what your body needs and wants. Ideally, you should try to see me at least once a month, but I know that’s asking for a little much, especially because you’re away so often. At least try to see me whenever you’re in the city. After that, the tricky part is the actual delivery - and I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how often mom and baby don’t make it.” She purses her lips, and Callum takes a breath.

No. He doesn’t need to be told. He reaches for Rayla’s hand.

Rowena smiles. “We do good work at our clinic,” she tells them. “Since your engagement, we’ve had a few elf-human couples come to us, and they’ve all done really well. We’ll look after you, when the time comes, but until then, please don’t be too worried. There’s nothing worse for the baby than a worried mom. For now, just… take it easy. Pay attention to yourself. See someone if anything changes or if anything’s worrying you. I’ve heard, Princess, that you’re not overly fond of being taken care of, but if there was ever a time for it, it’s now.”

Rayla breathes out a sigh. “I suppose,” she mutters. “The - er - morning sickness…”

“It should go away by week twelve,” says Rowena. “The best I can recommend is ginger tea, because anything actually medicinal will put you to sleep.”

“We figured that one out on our own,” snorts Callum. “Thank you, Rowena,” he says finally.

“My pleasure,” she says with a grin. “When do you think you might be able to see me again?”

“We’re here for a couple more weeks,” Rayla tells her. “We’ll see you again before we go.”

“That would be good,” she says nodding. “I’ll see you then, I suppose. Your Highnesses.” She curtseys deeply, waves her fingers at Lessa, and smiles once more before she heads back down the stairs.

Callum waits until she’s gone before he lets out the breath he’s holding and squeezes Rayla’s hand. It’s been mostly excitement until now, the thought of meeting their baby drowning away a fair amount of his fear of the actual delivery, but the reality of it hits him like a punch to the gut. Childbirth is dangerous. It’s not an enemy they can defend against. It’s not something they can defeat.

It’s a part of life. In some parts of the Pentarchy, where there are fewer elven healers, one in three mothers still die, and while Katolis is _not_ one of those places, it still scares him.

“We’ve got a long way to go before then, Callum,” Rayla murmurs, kissing the back of his hand. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I know it will be,” he says.

(He hopes so, anyway. He’s not really sure what he’ll do if it’s not).

 

x

 

On the outskirts of the city, a rumour is started.

The Prince and Princess of Katolis saw a midwife today. It was supposed to be discrete, but the eyes and ears of the common folk are difficult to fool.

The tavern is crowded tonight, but crowded taverns are often the easiest place to converse without being overheard.

“What do you want me to do?” asks the informant.

“Nothing for now,” says the man in the corner of the bar, his hood pulled high over his head. “Spread the word. Watch the midwife.”

The informant snorts, drinking deeply from his mead. “Is that all?”

The hooded man huffs, watching the way his drink swills around in his tankard. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that our Prince and Princess can be dangerous when they want to be. Any move we make must be precise - and _no one_ is to move until my say so, is that understood?”

The informant shrugs and takes a drink. “If you say so,” he says. “General.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things:
> 
> 1) DISCLAIMER: I am not a midwife. I am a scientist. I only ever talk to pregnant women to give them their Anti D if they're Rhesus negative and my involvement in a prenatal care is to have blood ready in my blood bank in case someone starts bleeding uncontrollably. I only sort of know what I'm talking about. Apologies for any inaccuracies Rowena's baseline notes. In my defence, it's medieval fantasy okay????
> 
> 2) This was always supposed to be cute, but on the twenty minute drive home from work last night, it grew a plot so. Guess we're doing that now???? I feel like the political climate of Katolis needs addressing anyway especially bc of Callum and Rayla's recent marriage?????? God I hope this doesn't suck. Honestly team, I'm sorta winging it at this point. Whether or not this pans out is entirely unknown.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bub’s there," she murmurs. "Not very big, but there all the same.”

vii.

  
  


It’s a long couple of weeks.

Callum’s been careful around her since they found out to begin with, but Rowena’s words make him even moreso. His touch is softer than it ever has been; feather-light, even in their most private moments - _especially_ in their most private moments, like he’s afraid he might break her if he’s the slightest bit too fast or too rough.

Rayla gets it, but the hormones that come with pregnancy do not. She’s been… rather more passionate lately, and it would be fine, she thinks, if Callum didn’t treat her like she was made of glass. He means well, and it still feels good, but it’s not what she _wants_ , and it’s frustrating. She’s pregnant, but she won’t _break_. She tries to be patient - he just doesn’t want to push too far too quickly, and she can’t really be annoyed at him for that - but in between that and the morning sickness, she’s been noticeably moodier about it.

That is until the tail end of her eleventh week, when she wakes up one morning, washes up, and dresses, and realizes that she’s _just_ moody. She pauses in her routine - purses her lips at herself in the mirror, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the almost-imperceptible swell in her belly, hesitant to get her hopes up too early.

“Is this for real?” she asks it. “Are you done making me sick every morning?”

There’s no answer, obviously, but Callum pauses in the bedroom, his shirt halfway done up, his brow furrowed in an amused little frown. “Are you talking to the baby?”

“I might be,” says Rayla. Her eyes are still narrowed, but her lips pull upwards a fraction when he strides into the bathroom. “I didn’t throw up this morning,” she says. There’s an odd sense of pride in it that she doesn’t really understand, but Callum seems to, his grin widening as he kneels before her to press a kiss against the bump.

It’s barely one - if anything, it just looks like Rayla had a big dinner last night, and her clothes cover it up so well that no one else would notice at all - but it’s there nonetheless. She’s a little afraid of it still, but Callum’s excitement and fascination is catching. Their baby is _growing_ , and it’s growing happily; a little half-elf, half-human bundle of cells probably about the size of a lemon now (according to Callum’s notes) that’ll come out in six months time an actual _baby_ . What a _thought._

“Nice of you to let your mom have a day off from the nausea,” he says to it with a smirk. “I think she might be pleased.”

“ _Mum_ ,” she says pointedly, eyeing the top of his head, “is _very_ pleased. I might even be able to have more than bread for breakfast today.”

Callum snorts at her, kissing her belly once more before he gets up again to give her one on her lips. “You’re going to confuse the baby if you insist on calling yourself ‘ _mum’_ instead of ‘mom’.”

“Feel like I’m the one that gets to make that decision seeing as I _am_ its _mum_.” She smirks back at him, enjoying the pretend-pout that graces his lips and the spark of mischief that lights his eyes.  

“I guess,” Callum sighs. He rolls his eyes at her, but he doesn’t argue the point, at least for now. There’s an anxiety that flashes in his eyes, and Rayla understands - they’re not _quite_ past the twelve week mark yet, and it’s almost like he’s afraid to start making jokes about it until he knows for sure that it’s safe.

She breathes out carefully. “We’ll go see Rowena again in a few days,” she says. “It’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his eyes soft, his smile fond. “I’m just…”

“Overthinking it, perhaps?” Rayla chuckles at him. She offers him a reassuring smile and does up his shirt the rest of the way before he has the chance to dwell any more on the thought. Her fingers are brisk, making quick work of it, and there’s something strangely domestic about the way he lets her. It just feels simple, she thinks, like they really are just two newly weds expecting their first baby, instead of a human prince and an elven ambassador caught up in the overly complicated politics of human-elf relations. Her fingers linger at his collar, just for a moment, but she takes his hand when she’s done; places it on her belly, the bump, small as it is, firm under his fingers. “Bub’s there," she murmurs. "Not very big, but there all the same.”

He smiles, releasing the breath that had hitched itself in his throat, and the tension in his shoulders with it. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I - this baby -”

“You don’t have to explain,” Rayla tells him, pressing a kiss to his nose. “I get it.” She lets him remind himself that everything’s fine - that she’s fine and that their baby is too - for a moment longer before she squares her shoulders and takes a breath. “Let me finish up,” she says at last. “I think I deserve some breakfast I can enjoy for once.”

 

x

 

They set up another appointment with Rowena two days into Rayla’s twelfth week.

It’s still at _The Wishbone_ \- the less attention they can draw to themselves, the better - for now at least. There’s only so long they can keep this to themselves, and doing so longer than they need to would start a scandal _worse_ than if they just make an official announcement about it. Personally, Rayla thinks it’s all a _lot_ unnecessary - this baby should be no one’s business but theirs and their immediate family’s, but Callum’s still a Prince, and his people have to know.

They intend to to tell them just before they leave for Xadia again, Rayla thinks. Assuming Rowena gives them the all clear, and that everything’s progressing as well as it can be, they’ll let Ezran tell the rest of the city at the end of the week and, hopefully, they’ll be on their way long before they have to deal with the publicity.

“It won’t be so bad,” Rowena tells them. “Most of the city’s adjusted well to the idea of you, Princess. I don't think there’s anything to worry about.”

“As much as I’d like to believe that, I somehow doubt they’re _all_ so well adjusted,” says Rayla drily.

Rowena smirks a little, loosening the tourniquet around Rayla’s arm as she draws her blood into a syringe. It’s all routine stuff, she’d said, just to make sure her that her body’s got what it needs for both her and the baby. It’s not such a surprise to Rayla, but it’s pretty new, as far as antenatal care goes for humans: elves have been drawing blood for medicine for centuries, but Rowena’s hands still shake around the syringe. “You’re staying for a few days longer, aren’t you?” she asks absently.

Rayla nods at her, careful not to move her arm. “We’ll be here ‘til the end of the week. Is that enough time for those tests?”

“Oh, that’s heaps,” says Rowena cheerfully. “I can make sure you’ll have everything you need before you go too. After that, you shouldn’t need to see me again until week twenty.”

“That’s a long time,” says Callum, frowning a little. “You said once a month would have been ideal.”

Rowena chuckles. “It would be, but it's not exactly realistic, Your Highness,” she tells him. “As long Her Highness takes it easy and baby's growth is what it should be, week twenty will be fine. If you’re really worried, I can show you how to do a couple of things yourself?”

Callum’s eyes light up at that. “Can you, please?”

“Of course,” she says with an eager nod. “If that’s okay with you, Princess. At least that way you’ll know if something’s not right, and you can get appropriate care wherever you are.”

“You’ll turn him into a nightmare,” teases Rayla, “but go on. It’s probably better than the alternative.”

Callum makes a face at her, but she only shrugs, her smirk widening.

He turns out to be a very good student. He listens intently to Rowena and asks her probably a few too many questions, but he’s naturally curious and easily excitable when it comes to anything related to the baby, and the active care of it and its mother this early on is probably something he’d never imagined he’d get to learn. Rowena gives him a bunch of charts and a little booklet full of even _more_ notes and things to watch for; tells him exactly how much weight Rayla should be putting on _per week_ to make sure everything’s on track; shows him how to take a fundal height measurement to estimate baby’s growth - altogether, it feels like an excuse to let Callum be even fussier still, but his fascination with it is sweet. Rayla’s smile is exasperated by the end of it all, but it’s genuine when she concludes that it can only mean he’ll be a great dad.

They’re halfway through a conversation about how the elves at the clinic will use magic to estimate iron and vitamin levels in Rayla’s blood when they hear something crash downstairs.

Lessa shrieks.

Eleni swears.

There's a scuffing against the floorboards, and then Claudia’s voice sounds from out on the street, firm and angry - “Who the _hell_ threw that?”

Rayla catches Callum’s eye. Something’s wrong - they can both feel it - and they frown at each other, their conversation forgotten.

“Stay up here,” Callum tells Rowena. “You too,” he adds to Rayla.

She snorts. “Yeah. No.”

“Rayla -”

“I’m not having this argument now, Callum. If something’s happened, I want to know about it.”

He scowls, but Rayla pushes past him to prove a point.

They head down the staircase together - Rayla first, followed by Callum, Rowena descending halfway, curious and concerned - to find Eleni comforting her sniffling daughter as she bounces her wailing little boy, and a shattered front window, its glass strewn dangerously across the floor.

The brick that did it is lying on the floorboards amidst spilled tonics and broken wares.

Out of instinct, Rayla reaches for one of her blades. She holds it tight and at the ready, her knuckles white around the hilt, her shoulders tensed and her hackles raised, but Callum tugs her back as Claudia storms back into the shop, furious.

“What happened?”he demands.

Claudia scowls at him. “Exactly what it looks like,” she snaps. “Some jerk threw a brick through the front window and took off.”

“Is everything okay?” asks Rowena. She pushes past Callum with a worried frown. “Is anyone hurt?”

“We’re both fine,” says Eleni. To Lessa, she adds, “Everything’s okay, see? Look, even Terryn’s calming down. We’re okay. You wanna go upstairs with Auntie Rowie while we clean this up?”

Lessa nods wordlessly, her cheeks tear-stained. She steps carefully over the glass without argument and puts her hand in Rowena’s.

Claudia waits until they’re upstairs and out of earshot before she lets out a string of curses so vile that Rayla finds herself marginally impressed. In the end, she picks through the debris to take the broom from the back room. “Why don’t you take Terryn upstairs?”she says to Eleni. “I think Lessa’d probably feel better too. We can do this.”

Eleni looks between them uneasily, but Terryn’s still blubbering in her arms, and Lessa’s probably still upset, and reluctant as she is, she knows her children need her more. She catches the way the Rayla and Callum and Claudia look at each other anyway - the frown on Rayla’s face, the seriousness on Callum’s, and the scowl on Claudia’s - and nods. “Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“You got it,” mutters Callum. He steps out of her way, and when Eleni’s upstairs, he turns to Claudia. “I thought the city got past this.”

“It _did_ ,” says Claudia. “There are more elves here than ever, and most people are _happy_ that they are.”

“ _Most_ people,” grumbles Rayla.

Claudia grimaces. “There’s always been tension,” she says. “Honestly, it’s amazing that this is the first time this has happened _here_. It’s just… I think since the wedding…”

“Ah.”

Callum and Rayla fall silent. As much as they want to believe it, Katolis hasn’t come _that_ far. Its relationship with Xadia has come in leaps and bounds compared to what it was, but there is _absolutely_ still resistance to Rayla's presence here - it’s naive to think that that’s where it stops. Their marriage was always going to be a point of discussion - there was always going to be tension and debate and opposition to it - but they’d never considered it escalating to vandalism.

It makes her wonder if this has happened in other places in the city. If other elves, or elf-human couples have had trouble too. If it’s escalated so much since the wedding that people are openly attacking them.

“Maybe we should wait,” mutters Callum.

“To do what? To announce the baby?” Claudia shakes her head. “It’ll be _worse_ if you don’t, and you know it. You guys are Prince and Princess. There has to be transparency there - they have to feel like they can trust you, especially given you two are _married_ now. Anything that sounds like a scandal will only work against you, and even worse - _Ezran_. In any case, maybe news of a baby might calm things down. Maybe it’ll remind everyone how to get along.”

“You’d think a _wedding_ would do that too,” says Rayla drily. “But… transparency is right. Anything we actively try to keep secret’s just going to blow up in our faces. We just need to handle it… _delicately._ ”

“And carefully,” warns Claudia. “This feels like it could get dangerous.”

“We’ll be fine, Claudia,” says Callum quietly. He breathes a sigh, stepping over the glass and to the broken window. “There’s not a lot we can do about whoever did this now. In the meantime, I can fix up the glass, I guess. Maybe put a charm up - make sure it can’t happen again.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” Claudia lets out a rueful snort. “Ailas is going to kill me.”

“Not you,” mutters Rayla. “Whoever did it, probably, if we ever get hold of them.” She pauses, putting her blade back into the sheath at her back. “Has this happened anywhere else?”

Claudia pauses, sweeping the glass into a heap, her lips pursed thoughtfully as she considers the question. “Nothing like this, no,” she says finally. “There’ve been, you know, dirty looks and rude comments and stuff, but there’s always been that.” She huffs, leaning her chin against the end of the broom. “We’re probably worry over nothing,” she says after a moment. “Most of the city’s still fine with it, and I’m not just saying that to be optimistic. Maybe it was just some kids. This was probably just a one-off.”

Rayla snorts. It’s naive, but she certainly hopes so.

 

x

 

The announcement is made at the end of the week.

Balan’s not there for it. He’s not foolish enough to be seen so close the castle - not while the Prince and Princess (he sneers at the title) are still here, and not while the guards on-shift have no allegiance to him. He hears about it thirdhand from the blacksmith on the northern quarter of the city.

“A baby so soon,” says the smith as he works. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised.”

“Yes, well, His Highness has never had the capacity to keep his hands to himself - particularly not when it came to our new Princess.” It takes a lot more effort than he thinks he has to keep himself from scowling, but the smith hardly notices.

"I don’t see the appeal,” he says mildly. “There are more of them in the city every day and there are so many of those half-elf kids that there’s an elf-human clinic now. I’m not… _opposed_ to it, but I don’t get it.”

“You and me, both,” says Balan. He watches the smith pat the sweat off his face with a sooty cloth before he puts his tools down at last and takes the item Balan had commissioned him to make from its place on the wall.

He hands it to Balan, half unsheathed. “Not to be vain, but it’s some of my best work,” he says. “Perfectly balanced, easy to handle - I’m especially proud of the engraving on the hilt. You could fool anyone into thinking a sunforge elf made that. It’s a beautiful dagger, if I do say so myself. What’s it for?”

Balan scoffs, twirling it around in his hands, testing its weight and balance before he sheathes it again and pulls a bag of gold from his belt. “It’s fine work,” he agrees, but he chooses his next words carefully. “It’s a gift,” he tells the smith. “My daughter’s having a baby too. I want her to be able to look after herself if her husband’s away.”

“Ah,” says the blacksmith. “Not another half-elf child, I hope.”

“Unfortunately,” says Balan wryly. “But a grandchild is still a grandchild.”

“I suppose,” mutters the smith. “Thanks for your business.”

“Thank _you_ ,” says Balan, tucking the dagger into his belt, something like a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m sure she’ll put it to good use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, team, I basically live at work now, but also, now that this thing apparently has a plot, I had to rework my original skeleton for it. Feel like it knows what it wants now - should make actually writing it a little easier :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You never did know how not to touch her, nephew,_ she signs to Callum. _I remember that being a problem even before you were engaged._

viii.

 

 _Expecting already?_ Aunt Amaya signs. _Not in the business of wasting time, are you?_ Her lips are quirked upwards, amused and smirking, and while it’s obvious that she means to tease her nephew and his now-wife about their inability to abstain, Callum’s not fooled. She’s still not entirely sold on elves in general, but she’s come a long way: she only pretends to dislike Rayla now - much in the same way Runaan pretends to dislike Callum - but even in spite of that, the spark of excitement in her eye is unmistakable.

Ezran had made an announcement about it this morning. They’d hoped to leave Katolis this same afternoon, but Aunt Amaya’s return had delayed them. She’s been serving as General of the Katolan Army for a little more than a year now, but she and Commander Gren had been needed at the Breach immediately after the wedding. They’d left the following day, which was a shame, Callum remembers thinking, because they’d barely had the chance to talk at all during the reception - it doesn’t feel right to leave now.

“We can put it off one more day,” Rayla had said, understanding in her smile. “Seems a bit rude to have your aunt hear about it secondhand when we’re here now. Xadia’s not going anywhere.”

He’d kissed her then. One firm and affectionate against her cheek that had her made her giggle in a way that made him doubly grateful to have her. He’s glad they’d waited - it’s rare that he and his brother and his aunt can have dinner together as a family, and Aunt Amaya’s excitement for them is obvious, even to Rayla. Beside her, Commander Gren’s grin is so wide, he looks as if he might burst at the seams.

“How exciting for the both of you!” he says. “You must be thrilled, Your Highnesses!”

“Closer to terrified, but you know.” Callum lets out a chuckle, his cheeks tinged red under his aunt’s knowing stare. “We - uh - we know it’s a bit soon and the math doesn’t - doesn’t work out right for this to have happened on - uh - our wedding night, but -”

“Literally no one cares,” interrupts Ezran happily. “You saw the crowd out there today - they’re just as excited for you as we are!”

“Feel like you might be generalizing a bit,” says Rayla with a smirk, but it falls a little when Aunt Amaya directs her next question at her.

_How far along are you?_

She flushes at that. “Twelve - almost thirteen weeks,” she mutters, her hands signing her answer.

Aunt Amaya’s own smirk only grows wider. _You never did know how not to touch her, nephew,_ she signs to Callum. _I remember that being a problem even before you were engaged._

Callum goes redder still, but it’s true. A year ago, when Ezran had first presented them with the _idea_ of being married, he’d panicked so fast and so hard that his denial of the depth of their relationship had nearly ruined them, and still, he found excuses to touch her hands and her face and her hair at every opportunity - so much so that she'd left, thinking his affection for her was limited to their friendship even when it was obvious to everyone but him how in love with her he had been. _Now_ , the idea of not being married to her at all is ridiculous to him, and as much trouble as it gave her - as much of a _mess_ as it had been - it was worth it, in the end, because if Ez _hadn’t_ done it; if he _hadn’t_ forced Callum to look at their relationship right in its face, he might still not have realized how much he loved her to begin with.

 _This_ is better. In every way.

And in spite of the way his aunt teases them, he takes Rayla’s hands in his and presses it to his lips.

“Still don’t,” he says, stupid grin on his face. “Not really a problem now, though.”

“So gross,” snorts Ezran, but he’s all smiles nonetheless. “So, do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl? Have you thought of names yet? Are you gonna have the baby here or at home?”

“Er - “ Rayla hesitates, her cheeks paling just a little. “One thing at a time, hey?” she manages weakly. “We’ve only just got around to telling everyone. We - er - we haven’t even really talked about that far ahead.”

Ez presses his lips together - like there are a million more questions on his mind, but he holds them in his throat and swallows them in an effort not to overwhelm her. He’s probably been the most overt about his excitement though - Callum’s already heard him muttering to Bait about gifts for his impending niece or nephew - but he doesn’t ask anymore questions. Instead, he grins at them both, and says, “Whatever you guys decide, there’s always room for you and the baby here. I mean, I know it’s not Xadia, and I don’t want to be presumptuous at all, but the castle can be your home just as much as it is Callum’s if you want it to be.”

 _That_ makes Rayla smile a little. “That’s sweet, Ez,” she says. “Don’t you worry though. Even if the little moonbeam isn’t born here, you’ll see plenty of it.”

 _Us too, I hope_ , signs Amaya. _Halfling or not, that’s still my grand-niece or nephew. I’d better not be deprived of the opportunity to spoil it._

“Of course not, Aunt Amaya,” laughs Callum. “We wouldn’t even dream of it.

 

x

 

Their first meeting together as married ambassadors is a negotiation about opening Xadian ports in the south to trading vessels from the Pentarchy. It’s not for a week or so yet, but it’ll be an easy trip - one they’ve made before, and, now that Rayla’s not sick every morning, one they can make in good time even if they delay leaving for another day. The break’s been nice - not-so-secretly, Callum hopes they might have time for another one soon - but reality is calling, and things have already started to creep back into place.

Rayla’s growing restless and bored of the congratulations and the probing questions about details they haven’t even talked about yet, and she’s all but itching to leave the following morning. She’s well and truly tired of the weeks she’s spent feeling too nauseous to move - she wants to get back to work, and she wants to be active again (or as active as Rowena says she’s allowed to be, in any case). Ultimately, things have gone back to normal - except for the fact that they’re married now, and the fact that the whole continent might know about the baby in a couple of days’ time, of course, but they’re as prepared as they can be for the changes those might bring.

What they’re _not_ prepared for is the onslaught of gifts that arrive the morning after Ez’s announcement.

It starts off innocently enough - a pair of knitted baby booties from Claudia and Soren that they’d apparently made themselves (“No dark magic!” the card reads proudly); a little book of traditional human and elf fables from the staff at Rowena’s clinic; a wrap with a ring fastener like the one they’d seen Eleni carrying baby Terryn around in from Ailas and his family - little things that aren’t entirely necessary but Callum and Rayla appreciate all the same.

The more outrageous gifts come while they’re trying to get their things together to leave.

“This is a human tradition, then?” says Rayla, unamused as a pair of guards lug a crib from one of the lesser families into their room. It’s the second one - more extravagant than any crib should have the right to be, its exquisite silver frame glinting brightly in the sunlight. There’s already a pile of stuff in the first one - multiple sets of baby clothes, probably six rattles, more dummies than _three_ babies could probably go through - stuff that they honestly have no need for and are more capable of getting themselves if there’s ever a moment that they _do_.

“As if elves don’t get expecting couples nice things,” snorts Callum.

“Oh, they do,” drawls Rayla. “But not to this extent.”

Callum rolls his eyes at her, picking through the things in the first crib with a grimace. “They mean well,” he says patiently. “But yeah, you’re right. This is excessive. It’s not all bad, though, right? Some of this stuff might come in handy.”

“Well, yeah, we just have _too much of it_.” Rayla huffs, flipping through the book Rowena’s clinic had sent with an absent little smile. “We could always donate a bunch of it. Terryn’ll probably need some of this stuff, and there have gotta be other families that’ll put this stuff to better use than us.”

“That’s a sweet idea,” says Callum, grinning brightly at her. “A truly princessly suggestion, if I do say so myself.”

Rayla scowls and tosses the nearest cushion at him.

“I mean it,” laughs Callum, dodging out of its path with practised ease. “It’s a good idea. I think we should do it - although, it might have to wait ‘til we come back. If we go through all this stuff now, we’ll never be able to leave.”

“How unfortunate,” snorts Rayla. She shakes her head at the pile in the first crib. The things from their friends and family, they keep in a separate, much smaller pile - one that might actually fit all together in Callum’s pack. She eyes the wrap fondly - it’s soft and light and useful, particularly for two ambassadors always on the road, the material dark and embroidered in silver with traditional moonshadow patterns - it’s probably something Ailas had gotten on his latest trip into Xadia, but most of all, it’s _practical_ . It’s one of the few things they’d received today that she and Callum both actually _like_ , and she hopes, when they get back, that they remember to thank them appropriately for it. “Come on, then,” she says finally, gathering it into a heap with Claudia and Soren’s hand-knitted booties and the little book of fables. “Let’s get a move on.”

Callum holds his pack open for her, and they’re part way through packing it all in neatly when a guard knocks against their bedroom door.

“Your Highnesses,” they hear him say. “You’ve received another one.”

Rayla almost groans. “That’s it,” she mutters under her breath. “We’re never leaving. We’re trapped here forever.”

Callum stifles a snort, but he gets up to open the door for the guard anyway. “Tell me this is the last one.”

The guard bows deeply. “The last one so far, Your Highness,” he says, his own amusement obvious even in his professionalism. He hands them a sheathed dagger and a little roll of parchment. “From Duren, this time, My Prince.”

Callum raises an eyebrow at him. “Duren?” he asks, frowning a little.

Rayla frowns too, giving up on packing to examine the note over Callum’s shoulder. The seal is immediately familiar - a single upturned flower on blue wax - Queen Aanya’s. Callum hands it to her and, curious, Rayla breaks it with her thumb and squints at the spindly handwriting.

“‘ _Your Royal Highnesses, Prince Callum and Princess -”_ Rayla shudders - “ _‘Rayla. Congratulations to you both. I’d hoped to tell you in person, but it might be months before you’ll be in Duren so please accept this gift instead - a little something from me to the coming baby who I know will be as brave as his or her father and as much of a warrior as his or her mother. All the best, Aanya.’_ ”

“That’s nice of her,” says Callum, unsheathing the dagger curiously. He’s still frowning at it, thoughtful, and like there’s something about it that he’s missing, but Rayla takes it out of his hands and flips it gracefully in hers.

“It’s a good dagger,” she says, impressed. “She must have had it made especially. There are a ton of Sunfire elves in Duren - it can’t have been hard to find a smith who’d do it.”

“A dagger, though?” asks Callum, dubious.

Rayla gives him a pointed _look_ . “I got my first weapon when I was three,” she says drily. “Plenty of elves do. It’s not _that_ weird. Besides, it teaches responsibility.”

“I guess,” mumbles Callum, still unsure. “But still. A _dagger?_ For a _baby_ that hasn’t even been born yet?”

“Still not that weird,” snorts Rayla, but she sheathes it again and hands it back to him. “Why don’t you hold onto it for the time being? You don’t own one, and it’d be nice if you could learn to use weapons that aren’t _mine_.”

“I thought you didn’t mind sharing.”

“Not the point.” Rayla smirks at him, holding the dagger out with the handle towards him. “Seriously. You hold it. You can give it to bub when he or she’s old enough and you think they’re ready. Okay?”

Callum hesitates, but in the end, he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, taking the dagger from Rayla with an exasperated sigh. “There,” he says, tucking it into his belt. “Happy?”

“Very,” says Rayla with a grin. “Now, let’s go before anything else turns up.”

He laughs at that.

 

x

 

They ride out of the city gates in the early afternoon.

It happens regularly enough that the crowds don’t gather to wish them farewell anymore, but the market is still packed enough for Balan to watch, unnoticed, as the Prince and his elven whore of a Princess joke quietly to each other on their way out of the city.

“You delivered it then?” he asks quietly.

He’s standing at a stall, pretending to look over the wares of a travelling glassmaker from the south. His informant is a castle guard, out of his armour and invisible even to the others posted at the gates. He’s one of the few in the castle still loyal to Balan - one whose allegiance hadn’t been immediately discovered by Ezran and his Crownguard and thus hadn’t been immediately dismissed for it.

“As requested,” the guard murmurs. “The Prince has it now.”

“The elf was supposed to take it.”

“She did,” says the guard. “And she gave it to him. Or so I was told.”

Balan snarls, turning just slightly to look at him from the corner of his eye. “Those weren’t my instructions.”

“What does it matter?” asks the guard irritably. “He’ll never be without her. Your plan works either way.”

Balan’s scowls at him, but he turns once more and the Prince and his Princess are gone. They’re outside the city now, on their way to whatever meeting requires their attention next, and all that’s left to do is wait until their return before the next stage of his plan is put into gear. There’s a lot riding on this, and if, at any point, the Prince notices the rune inscribed with dark magic inside the sheath of the dagger, he might as well just walk himself to the gallows. Him and what’s left of the network of spies he has within the castle.

He huffs. “You’d better hope it does,” he mutters darkly, “or it’s your head as much as it is mine.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s my _husband_ ,” corrects Rayla sharply, “and if he needs an invitation, then so do I.”

ix.

  


Ahlon is a port city nestled within a little bay on the southwest coast of Xadia. It’s an old place, filled with wind-battered stone buildings and ancient ocean magic, but it’s never been one of Rayla’s favourite places. It’s an important town for sea travel and trade, but centuries of war haven’t been kind to the elves here. In her memory, they’re uptight and hard to negotiate with, and the watching and the waiting and the sinking of any and all human vessels that sail past have tempered them in the worst way imaginable for the brokering of peace. Its position on the far side of Southern Ranges keeps it isolated from the rest of Xadia too - but all things considered, the trip’s not so bad.

The journey reminds her of the old days. The nights were colder, back then, when they made camp out in the open; when the muscles in their legs were perpetually sore; when the only real pressing issue was surviving long enough to bring Zym home. They stay in inns and travel on horseback now, but in a way, Rayla sort of misses the simplicity of it - her and Callum and Zym, camping and catching rabbits and cooking on an open fire - they were hard days, but they were good days and they were just kids, who didn’t have to consider the political repercussions of their every action.

Things are different now, and it’s something she keeps firmly in mind as Callum helps her off Vorobey while a council representative - an Ocean Mage’s apprentice, she thinks, judging by the seafoam of his cloak -  looks between them obviously displeased.

They’re at the city gates. The two guards on either side of the representative are wordless as they take Vorobey and Kuritsa by the reigns to lead them inside, but the representative studies them, his frown one wrinkle away from being a sneer, before he bows and follows suit. “Welcome to Ahlon, Your Highnesses,” he says stiffly, leading them through the gates. “The city offers its congratulations to you both, for your recent nuptials, and for your coming child. The council has been… looking forward to your meeting.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes Rayla think that they absolutely have _not_ been looking forward to it at all. She takes a breath. “Thank you for meeting us,” she says diplomatically. “We’re very grateful to have been invited back into your city in the first place.”

“You require no invitation,” the representative says to Rayla quietly. He glances at Callum with a scowl, the great city gates closing shut behind them. “Your human, on the other hand -”

“He’s my _husband_ ,” corrects Rayla sharply, “and if he needs an invitation, then so do I.”

The representative pauses. His eyes flit to Callum, distrustful and uneasy, but he ducks his head. “My apologies, _Princess_ ,” he sneers, his youth betrayed by his informality. He says nothing else until they come to a stop outside an inn overlooking the port. He opens the door, nods to the innkeeper on his way past, and leads Callum and Rayla up a narrow stone staircase to a room on the second floor. “Your room,” he says with obvious dislike. “I hope this will suffice. Our sincerest apologies for the lack of extravagance.”

“This is fine,” says Callum at last. His tone is patient but his hand slips into hers to calm her as she feels her hackles rise. “Thank you for going to so much trouble. Has anything changed regarding our meeting with the council?”

“No, Your Highness,” says the representative. “You’re still to meet them tomorrow before noon. I’ll come and collect you then. May I offer you anything else?”

“No,” says Callum, before she can. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”

“Very good,” says the representative. He shuts their door without bowing, and Rayla scowls, collapsing into a heap in the armchair by the window.

Callum raises an eyebrow at her, his smile amused. “He wasn’t that bad,” he says, pulling the footstool over to sit in front of her. “He’s just young.”

“Ezran, and Aanya, and Rowena are young too,” snaps Rayla. “What’s _his_ excuse?”

“He grew up here?” offers Callum. He heaves her feet into his lap and tugs her boots off with gentle hands. “That’s what we’re here for, remember? To show them how to get along?”

“I guess,” she grumbles, shifting uncomfortably in her chair and unclasping her belt and her vest. She sighs as shrugs out of them, relishing how much easier it is to breathe. She’s fourteen - almost fifteen - weeks along now, and the swell in her belly’s not so inconspicuous anymore. She can hide it still but it’s growing more uncomfortable by the day - her vest only has so much give, and it can’t be good for the baby if she keeps wearing it longer than she needs to.  

Callum grins at her. “How’s our little moonbeam doing?”

Despite herself, Rayla chuckles at the name. “Well enough,” she says, hand rubbing the bump gently. “I think -” She purses her lips. “I think I felt it move today.”

“What?” Callum’s eyes go wide, his lips parting in an excited gasp. “Really?”

Rayla pauses, looking down at her abdomen with a thoughtful smile. “I think so? It’s hard to say, but your notes said it might feel like butterflies and…” Her smile widens as something flutters within her belly, too confident and too consistent to be anything else. She beckons him closer. “You might not be able to feel it just yet but -”

“It’s moving _now_?” Callum scoots forward eagerly, his hands gentle as he places them against the bump.

Rayla almost laughs at him, his happy smile, and his shining eyes, and the weird sort of tickle in her belly doesn’t help. It’s insistent, as if it wants her to be sure that it’s there and it’s growing, but its movements are still too little for Callum to feel them too. He pouts, pressing his ear against the bump like it’ll help, but he comes away after a moment with a disappointed sigh.

“Soon, bubby,” he says. “You keep talking to your mom, though - that way we know you’re okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” says Rayla, smiling fondly at him. “We’ll have to start thinking about names soon.”

“Soon?” snorts Callum. “I have names picked out _now_.”

“You _would._ ” She _does_ laugh at him this time, because he’s so eager and so earnest and so excited that he can barely even contain it. The baby’s been the only thing that’s on his mind for weeks and it shows in the way he dotes over her, even when he thinks he’s holding back. She presses a kiss into his hair, a little hesitant around names even though _she_ was the one who’d suggested it, because there’s a while to go yet and anything could happen in that time. “You don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl,” she says instead - a halfway response; one that doesn’t discourage him but doesn’t egg him on just yet, either.

“I have names that I like for both,” he says, but he catches the hesitation in her eyes anyway and eases back. “What do you think it’ll be?”

Rayla blinks at him. “I - uh - I dunno, I haven’t thought about it.”

“You’ve been carrying it around for almost fifteen weeks now. Your guess will probably be better than mine.”

She pauses, her lips pursed together, her eyes thoughtful when they land on her belly. “A little girl,” she murmurs at last. When she catches Callum’s eye again, he’s grinning wider than ever. “I could be wrong,” she adds hastily. “There’s no way to be sure.”

“It sounds nice though, right?” he says, kissing her fingers. “She’ll have eight fingers and your eyes, and she’ll be just as stubborn and just as pretty as her mom. I just - gods, Rayla, it’s been weeks and I still can’t get over the fact that we’re having a _baby.”_

“It _is_ pretty exciting, huh?” She hums, trying to imagine it - a tiny little girl with bright violet eyes and her father’s mop of brown hair, learning magic with him and how to fight with her. In truth, it still scares her - there’s a part of her that really, genuinely believes that she’s not fit to be a mother, but Callum’s trust in her is comforting, and the longer this child exists, the more she wants to trust in herself too. “You really think I can do this?” she murmurs. “Be a mother, I mean?”

“I know you can,” says Callum, tucking her hair behind her ears. “All you have to do is love it. Everything else comes from that.”

She hums once more, a sort of tentative belief in it, her fingers drumming gentle beats into her belly as the child within it shifts and flutters.

Callum watches her for a while with a quiet joy in his eyes. They’re so far from home - so far from any sort of comfort or security; from his brother, and his aunt, and his friends - but he’s with his wife, and his baby is growing pretty determinedly in her womb, and Rayla knows from the look on his face that that’s all that matters to him. He really is _happy_ like this - with _her_ \- and he loves her and this baby so much that he doesn’t even know how to express it.

In the end, she smiles, pulling her legs off his lap and tugging him upwards so she can help him out of his belt and jacket. “It’s late,” she says quietly, leaving his things in a pile at his feet. “It’s been a long day and it’ll be even longer tomorrow. Maybe we should get some rest.”

“Maybe we should,” he says, pulling her close. “Or we could do something else.”

Rayla laughs. “Something else then,” she says, pressing a kiss onto his lips.

She leaves the dagger lying heavily on the floor.

 

x

 

Their meeting is dull and frustrating. Twice, Rayla has to interrupt Councillor Eldoris in his spiels about how humans are lowly and savage to let Callum even get a word in, reminding herself often that diplomacy is key in making progress, and threatening the old elf now would do exactly the opposite.

“I’m not understanding your reluctance,” Callum says, his voice far calmer than Rayla could ever manage two hours into a negotiation about _opening a port_. “We’re not at war anymore, and there’s nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“We have nothing to gain from humans,” says Eldoris stiffly. “Anything you have to offer, we have no need for.”

“We offer friendship. An alliance, if you ever need it. Cheaper solutions to problems than even primal magic can’t solve.”

“We will _not_ open our ports to dark magic.”

“No one said anything about dark magic.” Callum takes a breath, his patience obviously wearing thin. “Trade is an essential part of peace,” he begins again. “Opening your ports to human vessels would cut the travel time for merchants travelling by sea in _half_ . There are elves living in Katolis _now_ who could use it - at least consider them.”

“Katolis?” snorts Eldoris. “Perhaps you should ease the tension in your own city before you come to tell me how to govern mine.”

Callum and Rayla stare at him, and Eldoris smirks at the way confusion crosses their faces.

“You haven’t heard?” he sneers. “Been too caught up in each other and in the extravagance of palace life, have you? Are you too royal now, _Princess_ , that you haven’t noticed your own people struggling to live in the city you claim to serve?”

“What in the name of the _bloody_ Moon are you talking about?” snaps Rayla, her patience gone in one blow. “The elves in Katolis are _thriving_ \- they have been since after we got engaged. There are healers there now, and general stores, and blacksmiths, and more elf-human unions than we can even _count_.”

Eldoris’ scoffs, his smirk widening. “We’ve received reports that the human residents of Katolis aren’t happy with the number of elves your King is letting into the city. To them, elves are still bloodthirsty monsters who want nothing more than to overrun their home. There’ll be riots next.”

“You know how you show them elves _aren’t_ bloodthirsty monsters?” Rayla snarls. “You _open your ports to human vessels._ ”

“And allow that same animosity into Ahlon? I think we’ll pass.” He gets up, collecting his various texts and scrolls in his arms, and jerks his head at the rest of his council to follow suit. “This meeting is done for the day, Your Highnesses. Good day to you both.”

They leave through the double doors in the back of the room without another word, leaving Callum and Rayla sitting stunned and alone in the Ahlon City Council Chambers. When sense hits her again, she reaches into her pocket for the message mirror within it, activates it with a deft swipe of her thumb, and writes into it for Claudia.

_Is everything okay over there?_

“What’d he mean ‘riots’?” muses Callum out loud while they wait for a response. “If there was that much hostility in the city - you’d think we would have _noticed._ ”

“You’d _think_ so,” grumbles Rayla, drumming anxious rhythms against the table with her  fingers. “I mean… someone _did_ throw a brick through Ailas’ shop window.”

“That’s not the same. There has to be more than just _that_ sort of tension for people to think there might _riots_ next.”

“How would he even know? This city’s been closed off from literally _everyone else_ \- what would Eldoris know that we don’t?”

The message mirror lights up again before Callum has the chance to answer. Rayla practically scrambles for it, her fingers digging into its edges as her writing wipes clean and is replaced with Claudia’s much neater, loopier hand.

_Everything’s fine. Why?_

Rayla pauses. She glances at Callum, wondering how she should respond, but Callum looks uneasily between her and the double doors the council had disappeared through, the thoughts running through his head plain as day on his face. What _would_ Eldoris know? He’s never been to Katolis. He’s never even left Ahlon. It’s rich of him to assume that Ez’s governance of Katolis is _wrong_ when his own governance is closing off the entirety of the world. And if there _was_ something wrong - they would have _noticed. Claudia or Soren_ would have noticed. Someone would have told Ez and, whatever it was, this would already be sorted.

“It’s probably nothing,” he says at last. “Just Eldoris trying to get under our skin.”

Rayla lets out a sigh, her hand flitting to her belly. “Yeah,” she mutters quietly. "That's probably all it is."

She hopes.   


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t just name a kid after the draconic word for your favourite primal source,” she says, exasperated. “Do you even know how ridiculous that sounds? You might as well name the child Moon.”

x.

 

The tavern is loud tonight. The buzz and the noise of it fills Balan’s ears like flies and the smell of pipe smoke irritates his nose, but he sits in his corner booth anyway, drinking deeply out of his tankard and enjoying the growing discomfort.

There’s been tension since the wedding, but it’s coming to a head. Balan can feel it in the air, and in his bones, like static before a storm. What did Ezran think would happen? Opening the gates of Katolis to Xadia with little regard as to how many of those monsters come in or out? What about his own people, and their homes and safety? Their jobs and and their security and their privacy? There are smiths losing business to Sunfire elves, and doctors losing their practises to Xadian healers. The streets are overcrowded, and, come winter, the city’s agricultural stores will barely be able to provide. Ezran is a human King before he’s anything else, but it feels as if he and his brother have forgotten that in favour of their show of peace and the common folk are noticing.

It was only ever going to lead to this.

“There’s too many of them,” snaps a man by the bar. “There’s more of their spawn in the streets every day. The city can’t keep up with this.”

“What do you expect His Majesty to _do_?” scowls a woman. “Kick them out? All at once? Start another war?”

“There’ll be war within his own city if he’s not careful.”

He doesn’t hear the rest. Someone slides into the seat in front of him, his own tankard, heavy with mead, in hand - the same guard who’d delivered the dagger to the Prince and his elf. “Sowing dissent among the common folk, are you?”

“This wasn’t _my_ doing,” snorts Balan. “Ezran guaranteed this when he married his brother off to that whore, foolish child that he is. It would have happened eventually, even if we weren’t here to move things along.”

“And the Prince?”

“Won’t be back for a while yet,” he says mildly. “He and his elf only left Ahlon this morning. They have other things meetings to attend to first - I imagine they won’t be back until Her Highness needs to see her midwife again.”

“My sources say that won’t be for weeks,” hisses the guard. “What, exactly, do you expect to be doing until then?”

“Why, this.” Balan gestures at the rest of the tavern, amused by the way the unease in the bar is almost palpable. He eyes the guard with a smirk, understanding of his impatience. Conspiring against the crown is a dangerous pastime, and the longer they do so without action only makes it more dangerous still. He takes a drink from his tankard, waving him off with confidence in his machinations and their likelihood of success. He’s had the better part of a year to plan this, after all, and it’s rather convenient that things keep going his way. “Don’t look so concerned,” he says at last. “I’ve made all the arrangements. All you have to do is allow entrance to the castle once the Prince and the elf return to the city. There will be nothing to implicate you, you can rest assured in that.”

“And…” The guard swallows. “If this fails?”

“It won’t fail,” says Balan smugly. “I can almost guarantee it.”

 

x

 

This is the third time they’ve tried to talk the Council of Ahlon into opening its ports for human vessels, and, if Callum were being totally honest, it’s not such a huge surprise that it’s the third time they’ve failed. They give up halfway through Rayla’s fifteenth week - at least they’d tried, Callum thinks, which is an altogether better approach to this third failure than… well, considering it a _failure_ to begin with - but they pack their things together without complaint the morning they intend to leave, relieved that they no longer have to put up with the blatant bigotry of Eldoris and his council.

It’s been a frustrating week.

Eldoris seems convinced that Katolis is a pot, simmering slowly but surely to a violent boil, but Claudia’s messages assure them that things are fine. Between her and a stuffy old elf who's never even left his city, Callum think’s its relatively reasonable to place his trust in her word over his, but it gnaws at him anyway. Part of him wants to forgo their next meeting entirely - to get back to the city and to see for themselves that things are well and truly _okay_ but they have responsibilities to the rest of the Pentarchy and to Xadia that come first.

They would have _noticed_ , he keeps telling himself. Ez would _know_ if something was wrong. He would have called them back. Sent them a crow. Had Claudia send a message to Rayla on her mirror. They would _know_ \- but it’s all he can do to keep himself from worrying about it.

He tries to distract himself from it with names.

There are a few that he likes already, but he doesn’t suggest those right away. Rayla’s a still a little nervous, and rightfully so - childbirth is dangerous even in the best of circumstances - and he doesn’t want to overwhelm her. Instead, he picks the ones he _knows_ are terrible, if only because he knows it’ll distract her too and ease the tension that’s been setting into her shoulders. She’s been just as worried as him, even if she won’t admit it out loud - his friends and family are hers now as well, and he’s seen her checking her message mirror frequently for updates from Claudia, anxious for news and afraid of receiving it at the same time.

It’s a stressful few weeks.

 

x

 

“Oberon if it’s a boy, Titania if it’s a girl.”

They’re riding into the mountain town of Avani, on the inland side of the Southern Ranges. Rayla’s sixteen weeks along now, and she huddles under his cloak as they ride past the snow covered entrances to mines and quarries. She’s never been one to get cold, but her hormones are all over the place and, stubborn as she is, the swell in her belly is a constant reminder of the fact that she can’t continue to be so. She’s big enough now that she can’t wear her vest anyway, and at least his cloak can hide the fact that she can no longer fit into her armour. They’re relatively easy to recognise nowadays, and no bandits would be stupid enough to attack them, but the longer they can fool people into thinking she’s still dangerous, the safer it is for them to keep travelling like this.

She frowns at him, her lips pressed together in an unimpressed line. “Is this a serious suggestion, or are you just being silly?”

“It can be a serious suggestion,” says Callum, grinning. “I kinda like the name Titania. We can call her Tania for short.”

“ _No._ ” She looks almost disgusted by the idea. “Those are _fairy_ names. You don’t name your kid after _fairies_. That’s just asking for trouble.”

Callum raises an amused eyebrow at her. “I didn’t know you were so superstitious.”

“I’m _not_ ,” scowls Rayla. “You just _don’t_ name your kids after fairies unless you want them mischievous wee monsters who never go to bed on time and go crazy over sugar.”

“This feels a little personal.”

“We’re _not_ naming this child Titania _or_ Oberon,” grumbles Rayla. “And if you keep suggesting fairy names, you’re going to be banned from ever suggesting names again.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.” Callum laughs at her as they pull their horses to a halt outside a snowy inn. They’ve made good time. The sun is low in the sky now, and they can set off again in the morning for the elven city of Adamina for more talks about humans and magic. Callum climbs off Kuritsa carefully, the dagger on his belt hitching against the saddle on his way down, before he holds his hands out to Rayla to help her off Vorobey. “They’re not _bad_ names,” he says as she takes them.

She sighs. “It’s a Moonshadow elf thing,” she mutters. “Fairy names are bad luck for parents. Do you _seriously_ want to name this child something like _Oberon_ anyway?”

“No,” chuckles Callum. “I suppose not.”

(But she hasn’t touched the message mirror and her shoulders are considerably less stiff. He calls that a mission accomplished).

 

x

 

“Eyvindr if it’s a boy, Araceli if it’s a girl.”

They’re in an inn in Adamina. Rayla’s scowling at the way her pants won’t do up anymore over her now pretty sizable bump. There's a dress in Callum's pack that _would_ fit (something else from Claudia and Soren) but she's been avoiding it. She's never liked dresses - she's only ever worn them for formal occasions, and the idea of travelling in a _dress_ irks her to no end - although, at seventeen weeks, he thinks she doesn't really have a choice anymore.

Everything’s going as well as it can be as far as they can tell - Rowena’s notes have been predictive of everything, and their little moonbeam is active enough that Rayla will pause in mid-sentence sometimes just to smile at the way it shifts within her.

Its movements still aren’t big enough for him to feel and, secretly, Callum’s a little envious that Rayla can feel its presence and he can’t - but all the signs are good, so it can only mean he’s not far off from getting to feel them too.

“Pretty sure you just made those up."

"I did _not_ ," says Callum, hoping he doesn't look too amused by her frustration. "Those are real names."

"They're awful."

"You didn't even think about them."

"I don't have to," grumbles Rayla. "They're _awful._ I'd bet you can't even _spell_ Eyvindr without looking it up first, and if _you_ can't spell it, how do you expect the kid to?"

Callum snorts at her. They're supposed to be in a meeting twenty minutes from now, but Rayla's still determined to _not_ wear that maternity dress, and they won't be going anywhere until she finally realises that it's her only option. He fiddles absently with the dagger, balances it daintily on his finger and watches it rock precariously from side to side. "Eyvindr's a nice name."

"It's really, _really_ not," says Rayla. "And neither is Araceli. Do _not_ saddle your child with names like that, you're not _allowed._ " She scowls once more, throwing her hands in the air in defeat as she tugs her pants back off and looks into his pack for the dress.

She pulls it over her head unhappily, her frown closer to a pout than anything else. Callum swallows a snicker, not because it doesn't suit her - it suits her quite nicely, actually - but because the roundness of her belly and the way her dress falls around it turns her adamance into something… cute.

He puts the dagger away, little smile on his lips, and gets up; helps her pull her hair out of the neckline and adjusts the tie at her back until it sits better over the bump.

“No to Eyvindr,” she snaps, grimacing at herself in the mirror on the other side of the room. “Over my dead body to _Araceli._ ”

Callum’s lips twitch, amused, but he presses them to her temple in an effort to hide his smile. “You look nice, by the way,” he adds. “Pretty.”

“Pretty’s not exactly what I’m going for,” mutters Rayla, straightening her skirt with a huff.

“Don’t you worry,” laughs Callum. “Pretty or not, you still look dangerous to me.”

 

x

 

“Lunus if it’s a boy, Caela if it’s a girl.”

They’re passing through the border town of Fiametta. The elves here know them well enough - it’s a frequent stop whenever they’re passing by Cyra and coming from the west or the south. Rayla’s pregnancy might as well be common knowledge now, and at eighteen weeks along, it’s difficult to hide. At least Fiametta’s a nice town - one they visit enough that people are used to Callum’s presence and where the townsfolk _don’t_ stare, confused by their affection for each other.

There’s been no other talk of trouble in Katolis and Callum _thinks_ that that’s probably a good sign. No crows have arrived, and no messages from Claudia bearing bad news have appeared in Rayla’s mirror. She still checks it frequently, but the tension in her shoulders is all but gone, and she jokes back now when he suggests names.

“You can’t just name a kid after the draconic word for your favourite primal source,” she says, exasperated. “Do you even know how ridiculous that sounds? You might as well name the child Moon.”

“I guess,” says Callum with a shrug. The dagger bumps against his leg as they ride. “But have you considered the fact that Caela sounds like both of our names put together?”

“That’s _worse._ ”

“Calla, then, like the lily.”

“ _No._ ”

“Rayllum?”

She flicks his shoulder, playful scowl on her lips. “Now you’re just being dumb.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not used to it.” Callum grins stupidly at her, but she rolls her eyes at him, endeared by his efforts to entertain. “Calla’s not that bad.”

“It’s too close to yours,” says Rayla. “People’ll think you named the kid after yourself.”

“And is that such a bad thing?”

She snorts unbecomingly at that. “No one likes a cocky prince, husband of mine.”

Callum smirks at her. “You do.”

“ _Stop._ ”

 

x

 

“Amaya if it’s a girl, Runaan if it’s a boy.”

It’s not such a joke this time. Callum personally doesn’t think she’ll agree, but they’re not names that _suck_ for once, and, at nineteen weeks along, he figures he should stop fooling around with dumb names and start coming up with serious ones.

It’s still pretty early and they should, technically, head back to Katolis soon to see Rowena, but Callum’s been taking note of Rayla’s fundal measurements and weight gain and sending them to her via Rayla and Claudia’s message mirror. She seems happy enough with how things are going - happy enough, even, that she suggests they take their time on the way back. It gives them time to stop for more than a day in Cyra, which Callum imagines might give Rayla some time to relax, and Runaan and Tinker (mostly Tinker) a chance to dote over their unborn grand-niece or nephew.

“Moon above,” snorts Rayla, “Can you even _imagine_?”

Callum raises an eyebrow at her. “What’s wrong with naming the baby after my aunt or your uncle?”

“They’d be so conflicted,” she laughs. “Can you imagine how Runaan might react if we named his _half-human_ grand-nephew after him? He’d be so thrilled and so mortified at the same time.”

“He doesn’t dislike humans _that_ much.”

“He doesn’t like them that much either,” teases Rayla. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that your Aunt Amaya wouldn’t be the same if we named her _half-elf_ grand-niece after her?”

Callum pauses and tries to picture it in his mind. On the one hand, his aunt would be honoured, and flattered, and probably a _lot_ smug about it, but on the other hand, she’s still not wholly adjusted to the idea of elves, either. She’d love the child anyway, Callum’s sure of it, but he thinks Rayla might be right: she’d be mortified too.

The idea makes him laugh a little.

“I notice you didn’t say _no_ ,” he says after a minute, a grin tugging at his lips.

Rayla rolls her eyes at him. “They’re not _terrible_ names,” she says.

“So… we might have names for our baby, then?”

“That’s not what I said.” Her smile is little - somewhere between amused and playfully impatient, even as she elbows him gently in his ribs, her arm brushing against the edge of the dagger at his hip. “But… maybe. Don’t know that either is entirely appropriate, but… _maybe._ ”

 

x

 

At the tail end of her nineteenth week, while they’re staying in Cyra with her uncles, Callum wakes in the middle of the night to Rayla, shaking his shoulder insistently as she sits on her knees on the bed.

He squints at her, dazed and groggy, unsure what she needs. Her eyes are bright in the pale moonlight, and there’s a sort of… _uncertainty_ on her face, but she says nothing, holds a finger to her lips, and presses his hand to her belly.

His heart skips a beat, afraid, for a moment, that something might be wrong - but she holds her hands over his, her breath caught in her throat until -

Something shifts against his palm.

Callum feels his throat go dry. He stares at her, his eyes wide and his lips parted, and then a something like a wince crosses her features and he feels the something shift again.

“Is - is that -?”

“Yeah,” she whispers. It’s not uncertainty, he realizes. It’s disbelief, like she’s only _just_ grasped the wholeness of the fact that she’s growing their _baby._ “ _Shh_ ,” she adds sharply, when he opens his mouth to let out the excited yelp building in his throat. “You’ll wake Runaan and Tinker. Just… let it say hi to _you_ first.”

Callum snaps his jaw shut, his lips tilting upwards into a smile so wide, his face hurts.

The baby shifts once more under his palm and he almost loses his mind right there. He tempers himself though - reminds himself that it’s the middle of the night, and Rayla’s uncles probably won’t be pleased with him if he wakes them now with the incoherent babble threatening to escape him. He swallows, instead, tries to breathe through his excitement and to slow the quick staccato of his heart, and puts a delighted kiss against her lips.

“Hey there, little moonbeam,” he whispers. “You doing okay in there?”

“It’s doing great, I think,” says Rayla with a smile. “Feels like it’s having a party.”

Callum chuckles, sliding off the bed entirely to press his lips against the bump. “You’re not even here yet and you’re already waking us up in the middle of the night,” he jokes. “We’re so excited to meet you, little one, your mom and I both.”

“ _Mum_ ,” teases Rayla. “And… speaking of…” She hesitates, almost like she’s concerned she might be overstepping, but she takes a breath and runs her fingers through his hair. “Sarai,” she murmurs at last. “If it’s a girl.”

Callum’s heart swells. He hadn’t wanted to suggest it - it didn’t feel right, coming from him, but the sound of his mother’s name coming from Rayla’s lips is so _right_ that, for a moment, he forgets how to speak. “Sarai,” he agrees finally, clearing the lump in his throat with a cough. “If it’s a girl. Rayla, I -”

He pauses, his eye catching something lighting up against the nightstand between Rayla’s blades and the dagger from Aanya. It takes him a second, but it’s Rayla’s mirror, he realizes, and he tears his hands away from her belly to reach for it. His face falls when he sees it - the excitement of feeling his child kick for the first time gone in an instant as Claudia’s fine handwriting appears across the glass.

“Callum.” Rayla shakes his shoulder again, her brow furrowed over her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Wordless, he holds the mirror out to her, and Rayla takes it, his fingers leaving moistened prints against its surface.

Her face hardens.

 _The clinic Rowena works at caught fire,_ it reads. _There are elves and humans blaming each other for it. You guys have to come back. Something’s gone wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **You guys, probably** : Hold the fucking phone, Jelly, isn't this just a Five Things fic crammed into pregnancy fic?  
>  **Me** : You bet your butts it is.  
>  **Also you guys, probably** : Also Google says you can't feel the baby move from the outside until, like, 21 weeks.  
>  **Me** : I know, but it's also a half-elf, half-human baby, so just - okay?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “‘Mess’ isn’t the word I would use.”

xi.

  


That elf-human clinic burns down in the night.

No one’s in it when it does, and it’s an act of vandalism more than it is anything else, but it riles up the city so much that Balan wishes he’d taken part in it. He’d only put the idea out there - into the heads of two foolish teenagers who’d thought they’d understood the complexity of politics and civil unrest without fully grasping the true depth of it. They didn’t know any better - they were cocky, impressionable boys who wanted to be involved and didn’t stop to consider the consequences of their actions - exactly the idiots he’d needed to pull off an act of such violence.

He wonders if they’ve been caught yet. They won’t be hard to find - they’re young and stupid and hardly discrete, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter to him.

The job is done.

The city is tense.

And the little blip on his map is moving quickly - quicker than it has before - out of the elven town of Cyra and back towards the border, probably on the word of that mage girl who used to live in the castle.  

It’s just a tracking rune. Something small he’d drawn in the inside of the sheath of that dagger - something so minute, not even the Prince would notice it. It was one of the first things he’d learned how to do out of an old dark magic spell book he’d picked up in the black markets in Neolandia, and he’s pleased, even now - _especially_ now - to know it’s still working.

He hopes they’re nervous. Hopes the messages he’s been sending to Ahlon under the guise of an elven spy have reached them, and that they’re even more on edge. He wants them tense, and uncomfortable. He wants them panicked so that their decisions are hasty and poorly thought through. He wants them in the worst possible frame of mind to give his plan the best opportunity to succeed.

Just a week or so more now, thinks Balan, smirking as he watches the blip stops for the night in a little village on the Xadian side of the border.

He’s waited long enough for this. He’s going to enjoy watching them crumble.

 

x

 

The ride home is hurried. The border is only a couple of days from Cyra on horseback, but it feels like a week before they cross it. They can only move so fast - riding too quickly isn’t so good for the baby, and guilty that she’s slowing them down, Rayla suggests twice that Callum go on ahead and that she’ll meet him in the city in a few days.

He refuses, obviously. Rayla doesn’t know why she’s so surprised - of course he’d be unwilling to leave her alone, twenty weeks pregnant, on the human side of the border with no company but Vorobey, whom she can’t even ride at faster than a brisk walk. As much as she likes to pretend that she can still hold her own, the truth is that the further along in this pregnancy she gets, the more helpless she is. They swap horses again as they pass by that little village at the base of the Moon Nexus, Rayla cursing quietly to herself about the Council of Ahlon refusing to open their port, even despite her hatred of water. This journey would be _so much faster_ by ship, and they’d be _there_ already if those elves had just put their heads on straight, but the fact that Eldoris had been _right_ is more concerning to her.

How had _he_ known? Who had told _him_ that tensions were rising in Katolis when even Claudia had been saying there was none? What’s been happening in the city that _he_ had known and not them? And now a clinic’s caught fire, and Claudia’s messages are growing frantic, and even Ezran’s messaging them now, borrowing Claudia’s mirror to send them pleas to hurry back.

They move as fast as they can, Callum on Vorobey bearing her jerkier movements in spite his lesser experience on a horse, Rayla on Kuritsa with her arms bracing her belly as she eases her into a hurried trot.

They arrive in Katolis just before the beginning of Rayla’s twenty-first week to find the tension is palpable the moment they cross under the gates of the city. The streets are quieter. The outer market is almost empty. There are guards stationed at the corners of buildings now, and Rayla feels the glares of the common folk on her the way she did when Ezran first invited her here as a guest _four years ago._ It feels as if everything they’ve worked for since the end of the war has vanished entirely, and she pulls Callum’s cloak tighter, her arm coming to rest protectively over her belly beneath it.

The remains of the clinic are blackened and still smouldering when they pass by it. It puts stiffness into Rayla’s shoulders and a scowl on Callum’s face, especially when they round the corner at the end of the street to find crowd gathered around a standoff between Rowena and an angry old woman.

“They shouldn’t even be in this _city_ ,” the woman snarls. “How dare you defy me for an _elf?”_

“You _need_ to back off, _Mother,_ ” hisses Rowena, her hands curling into fists by her sides as Callum urges Vorobey forward and the crowd parts to let them through. “Who I choose to be with isn’t up to _you._ ”

“You _insolent_ child -”

“That’s _enough_ ,” snaps Callum, pulling the filly to a halt between them. He towers over the older woman, his eyes severe, his mouth set in a grim line. “It’s _not_ up to you,” he says coldly, “and if you loved your daughter at all, you wouldn’t be making a public spectacle of this.”

“Y-Your Highness,” stammers the woman. She shrinks as he glares at her - as Rayla pulls up behind them, shielding the couple from view of the crowd. “I - erm - I mean no disrespect to you, My Prince but -”

“Disrespecting your daughter for her relationship _is_ disrespectful to me considering my _wife_ is an _elf_ , the same as hers.” Callum glares at her, and then at the crowd. “This isn’t a circus,” he says, his tone harsh. “Give them some privacy, for crying out loud!”

The crowd murmurs, but a couple of guards come riding around the corner, and they disperse, heading back to their homes and their businesses without argument. The old woman does the same, her eyes downcast, but she shoots a dirty look at Rayla when she thinks Callum’s not looking.

Rayla scowls back. Behind her, Callum mutters something to the guards, who nod and urge their horses back towards the castle, but Rowena and her partner on Kuritsa’s other side catch her attention with simultaneous curtseys.

“Your Highnesses,” says Rowena, looking relieved. “You’re back.”

Rayla grimaces at the title, and she shifts, climbing as carefully as she can off Kuritsa.

The two women - girls, even - they can’t be much older than seventeen - steady her, their hands on her elbows so she can support the bump on her way down. They’d always known Rowena was young, but her weariness as she stands protectively by her girlfriend makes her look even younger still.

“What the heck happened?” Rayla asks them. “We thought the city got past this.”

The elf girl shuffles uneasily, but Rowena grips her hand and offers her an assuring nod. “It did,” she mumbles. “Things were fine. There was tension, and there have always been humans who haven’t quite adjusted but - but then the clinic burned down and - and now -”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” grumbles Callum. “If things have been fine until now… what was Eldoris talking about _then_?”

“We need to talk to Ez,” says Rayla, frowning. “I don’t understand where all of this came from.”

“Neither do we, Your Highnesses,” adds Rowena quietly. “Things _were_ fine. And - _oh!_ ” She curtseys again, looking apologetic. “Princess, the baby! I’d almost forgotten - I need to take a few more notes to make sure everything’s okay, and -”

“It’s doing fine, Rowena,” says Rayla. “Later. Things have been good, but we need to talk to Ezran first. I’ll come and see you tomorrow at _The Wishbone_ , all right?”

“Of course, Princess.” Rowena curtseys once more. “We’ll let you be on your way.” They turn, the elf girl opening the front door, eager to be out of the street, but Callum stops them.

“Is this where you two live?” he asks.

The elf girl hesitates. “Yes, Your Highness,” she mutters awkwardly, unused to addressing anyone by such titles, Callum’s rolling clumsily from her lips.

He nods. “All right, stand back.”

They do, and Callum draws a rune into the air with both of his hands and mutters, “ _Praemunio maxima,”_ into the shimmering character. The rune dissipates when he breathes into it, the air between him and the front door gleaming once, like glass, before the light disappears and he steps back. “So this doesn’t happen again,” he says firmly. “I’m not having any more bricks thrown through windows or fires while we’re here.”

The girls sigh gratefully, their shoulders sagging. Rowena offers them both an appreciative smile and a quiet, “Thank you,” before she curtseys a fourth time and ushers her girlfriend back inside.

There’s a pause. It’s long and uneasy, and for the first time in _years_ , Rayla feels a fear of humans growing in the pit of her stomach. She takes a shuddering breath, curling Kuritsa’s reigns around her hand to tug her off in the direction of the castle. “This is a mess,” she grumbles.

Callum snorts, falling into step on her left so that she’s flanked protectively by them - him and Vorobey on her left, Kuritsa on her right. “‘Mess’ isn’t the word I would use.”

 

x

 

Eleni meets them at the front gates.

Rayla’s grown so used to her outside of her armour that she almost doesn’t recognise her, but she bows as they approach, relieved grimace flashing across her features. “Your Highnesses,” she greets. “It’s good to see you both. How are things coming along?”

“Fine,” says Rayla, frowning. “But that can wait until later. What’s happened? Is everyone okay?”

“Things are… tense,” says Eleni. She beckons for them to follow, her shoulders visibly relaxing when the gates close behind them. “There have been a couple of other bricks, some fighting in the streets, a _lot_ of arguments between elves and humans - but nothing else as bad as the fire. No one else has been hurt, but the people are scared. Those opposed to the presence of elves here have never been so vocal and it’s… worrying. His Majesty’s done his best to address everyone’s concerns but nothing he proposes will satisfy them. There’re… a few people who won’t settle for anything less than the complete removal of elves - but we all know King Ezran won’t do that.”

“We should never have left,” mutters Callum.

Eleni shakes her head at him. “Something’s riling them up,” she says. “Or someone. We’ve just… had trouble finding the source.” She leads them up through the castle, its familiar stone halls and narrow staircases, and to the chamber in the West Tower that Ez sometimes uses as a classroom when he has the time to do a lesson with his tutors.

Ezran’s waiting for them there, along with Claudia, Soren, and Commander Gren and General Amaya. They look varying shades of relieved to see them, but Ezran greets them both with a tired smile and open arms.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” he mumbles, hugging them each in turn. He hesitates at Rayla’s belly, and, in spite of herself, Rayla lets out a chuckle and parts Callum’s cloak to let him say hi to his impending niece or nephew. “Sorry to make you come rushing home,” he says, his palms gentle against the bump. “It’s - um - it’s been a heck of a week.”

“So we’ve heard,” says Callum. He frowns at them - Claudia, looking exhausted, Soren, leaning heavily on his cane, his Aunt Amaya with her jaw clenched, Gren looking more serious than they’ve ever seen him at her side. “What can we do?”

“Right now?” says Commander Gren as General Amaya signs her answer. “Not a lot. We’re spread too thin. We don’t have the manpower to monitor every street of the city _and_ protect the castle _and_ find the source of this hostility all at once.”

“I sent word to Duren,” says Ez. “Aanya’s happy to send some help, but she can’t spare very many hands either, and it’ll take some time before they get here.” He heaves  a sigh, removing his circlet to run his hands through his hair. “Gods, ruling is hard.”

“It was always going to be, Ez,” says Callum grimly. “Do you at least know who did it? Set the fire I mean.”

Soren clears his throat. “A couple of kids,” he tells them, sounding tired. “They were being idiots. Said a lot of people were thinking it anyway, but didn’t expect the situation to devolve into _this_ . Pretty sure they threw that brick through the window of _The Wishbone_ too - the problem is, now that they’ve done it, the crazy ones - the people who think Ez should kick all the other elves out? - they’re finding every excuse to start fights and arguments in the streets.”

They grimace at that. They’d seen it themselves, just now.

“It’s weird though,” says Claudia, speaking up at last, her frown thoughtful. “Ez held court a little while ago to hear them out, but there’s this subset of extremists that are all saying the exact same things but - it’s not like they thought it out, I guess? Which is why we think someone’s riling them up - everything was too similar to be a coincidence and it feels like someone’s getting up in bar or something to talk nonsense at them and they’re just… soaking it up.”

Rayla raises an eyebrow at them. “What were their arguments, exactly?”

Ez shrugs. “Dumb stuff. Elves are here to steal their businesses and buy their properties, except they’re obviously _not_ \- a lot are here because it was closer than going all the way home, and then they stayed because they had kids or something. I asked them if it would be any different if we had immigrants from Del Bar or Duren setting up businesses and buying properties and apparently _that’s_ fine, but if it’s elves, ooh, no, we can’t have _them_ .” He makes a face, his tone tired and mocking. “They’re mad over nothing. Competition is _good_ for business, and if there _were_ problems with elves and our economy, you’d think we might have noticed over the last _four years._ ”

“I’m telling you, Ez,” says Soren. “You gotta make stronger decisions than this.”

“Right, because having people _arrested_ for having an opinion _totally_ doesn’t make me a dictator.”

“You can’t _not_ do something about it.”

“They have a _right_ to free speech, Soren,” snaps Ez, scowling at him. “Just because they’re _wrong_ , doesn’t mean they have to go to _jail_. We’ve just… gotta find whoever’s encouraging all this and put a stop to it. Maybe then, things’ll calm down.”

 _I don’t know that it’ll be that easy,_ signs Aunt Amaya. _Ideas like these are hard to kill._

“I know,” grumbles Ez. He sighs, heavy and defeated, but he sets his jaw anyway, and nods at his makeshift personal council, determined to fix the problem. “One step at a time, okay? This is all we can do right now.”

 

x

 

“They’re back,” the guard tells him. The tavern is loud again, but he pays them no mind. The news is more important. “They were seen riding into the city this morning.”

“I know,” says Balan, tapping his pile of maps with the bottom of his tankard. They’re spread out against the table in the corner booth of the tavern, and the blip that’s been crossing them has come to a stop in a room in the north side of the castle.

He snorts. It’s been almost _too_ easy. It doesn’t take much to manipulate the small minds of common folk - all it took from him was a whisper here, and an idea there, and the pressure within the city now has built up so much that he can reasonably expect all of this so-called _progress_ to implode within a few days. The Prince and his elf, too, are so obvious in their actions that it hasn’t been difficult to predict what they’ll do next.

Of course they’d come back at the first sign of trouble. Of course they’d drop everything to come home and _help,_ even if it means putting their whore of a Princess in a city full of humans, tense and angry at elves. They’re too _good_ to abandon the city _now._

“Well?” says the guard impatiently  - like Ezran’s guards might burst into the tavern at any moment to arrest them both. “Having them all together is dangerous. It won’t be long before they pool their resources together to figure out what we've been doing. Can we move now, or what?”

Balan supposes it’s true. Having them all together _is_ dangerous, and for once, the guard’s probably right. They need to act quickly now. There can be no mistakes. “We can move,” he says decisively, setting his tankard down to steeple his fingers under his chin. He smirks at the blip on his map. “Let’s get things underway.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a day off so here's an early update :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We did have our misgivings,” he says, taking aim at her - at her belly - “Coming after a pregnant woman in the night is hardly sporting. This clears my conscience, just a little.”

xii.

 

 

 

Everyone’s on edge and it shows. They do their best to proceed as normal - to catch up, and to leave the thinking for the morning after they’ve all had a good night’s sleep, but talk of the unrest in the city comes up anyway, and it’s like their meeting was never adjourned but they’re still coming up with blanks. 

It’s a complicated issue. Ez is right - they can’t just allow the arrest of citizens for arguing in the streets, but tolerating intolerance isn’t exactly a solution either. It won’t go away if they don’t do something about it, but until they find whoever’s rallying anti-elf sentiments, there’s nothing to do but wait and mediate problems where they can. They try to talk about other things when it feels like the conversation’s been exhausted - twice, Soren tries to make jokes about the situation, but they’re in poor taste, and he’s met with silence broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth. A little later in the afternoon, Claudia asks how things are going with the baby, and, later still, Ezran presses his hands to Rayla’s belly, hoping to feel it kick.

Rayla means to be patient with them, but it’s hard. With the threat of civil war is hanging over their heads, one would think that there might be other things to talk about besides her pregnancy, and, frankly, she’s sick of the attention. Surely they can hold their curiosity in for a day - but it’s their way of distracting themselves, and she can’t blame them for it. In the end, she lets them, her irritation dissipating when the baby moves under Ez’s palms and he cracks a smile - a real smile - for the first time since they got in.

“Have you decided where you’re going to have the baby?” he asks her quietly, while Callum’s talking to General Amaya and the afternoon wears on.

Rayla shrugs. “Here, I guess. I don’t imagine we’ll be going anywhere for a little while anyway - feel like we’ll be needed here.”

Ez looks away a little guiltily at that. “Thanks for coming back so quickly,” he murmurs. 

“It’s nothing, Ez,” chuckles Rayla. “You’re doing the best you can. Sometimes you just need the help anyway.”

“I just wish things weren’t so dumb.” He sighs and runs a hand over his face, the bags under his eyes made even more conspicuous by the light of the dying fire. “We got past this. There was this little while after you guys got engaged where everyone was genuinely happy with the way things were, elves in the city and all, and Katolis was this… paragon of peace. I don’t understand where all of that went.” His face twists, frustrated and confused, and, for a moment, Rayla stares at him.

“You don’t seriously think this is _your_ fault, do you?”

“Isn’t it?” mumbles Ez. There’s a sort of anguish on his face that makes Rayla’s heart ache for him. He’s fourteen. He’s not even old enough to drink alcohol by the law of his own land, and he has to rule it. He shouldn’t have to worry about this too.

“No, it’s not,” she says, almost offended he would even think that. “Governing is hard, Ez - it always has been, and it always will be, and you’re being unfair to yourself.”

He shakes his head at her. “I’m the King, Rayla. It’s my responsibility to look after these people and they're at each other’s throats because I invited other people into the city. I should have seen this coming. I should have done something about it earlier.”

“You _did_.” She gestures vaguely at herself, and at Callum, and at their mother’s ring and the way it gleams on her finger. “You said yourself that there was peace after we got engaged. That, to me, says that this worked, and that you know what you’re doing, and that this isn’t your fault. You’re a good kid, Ez, and an even better King. We’re going to fix this, I promise you that.”

“That’s a big promise,” snorts Ez ruefully, but he offers her a grim smile anyway, his eyes softening at the swell of her belly. “I’m really happy for you guys,” he says after a moment. “It just sucks that you can’t have your baby in peace.”

“All the more reason to fix it then, don’t you think?” Rayla grins at him despite herself, slumping in her chair a little and beckoning him forward with a finger. “It’s moving again, if you wanna have a chat to your future niece or nephew while it’s awake.”

The change in Ez’s demeanor is almost immediate, most of his anguish gone the instant he presses his palms against the bump. “It sleeps?” he asks curiously.

Rayla lets out a laugh. “Not really - there are times where it gets quiet, but it doesn’t ever really stop moving. Sometimes it feels like it’s trying to get comfortable. Other times, it feels like it’s having a party.”

“What’s it feel like right now?”

Rayla pauses, repositioning his hands until he can feel the way it jerks a little beneath her skin. “Like it’s got the hiccups,” she says, smiling fondly at the way his eyes go comically wide. He’d felt it before too, but she thinks he might be trying to imagine it this time. His grin is wide and unabashed as it twitches under his fingers and she knows, already, that Ez will spoil this child rotten once it’s born, and she doesn’t even mind. He’ll be as wonderful an uncle as Callum will be a father. She’s glad to have them both.

“Do you guys have names?”

“Just one so far,” Rayla tells him mildly. “Sarai. After your mother if it turns out to be a girl.”

Ez’s eyes go wider still. “Really?” he breathes.

“Yeah. What do you think?”

Ez lets out a laugh - it’s real, and happy, and excited, as it should be, devoid of all the stress and frustration that comes with ruling a kingdom. For the first time in a long time, he actually looks like the teenager that he is - inwardly, Rayla calls it a job well done. “It’s perfect,” he says at last. “Don’t you think so too, little moonbeam?”

The baby shifts like it agrees.

 

x

 

Claudia and Soren go home after dusk. With all the tension in the city, they’ve been taking turns staying at _The Wishbone_ when Eleni has to work the night shift at the castle. It’s not like they can do much - Claudia’s a mage who can’t do magic without a primal stone which she doesn’t have, and Soren’s a half-cripple who needs a cane to walk - but any extra eyes and ears are good eyes and ears as far as she’s concerned, even with Callum’s still-active protective charms around the shop.

They say goodbye to them within the castle gates - bid them to be safe, and to message when they get there, and to say hi to Ailas and Lessa and baby Terryn from them. They’re not elves, and there’s no reason to believe anyone would try to stop them this late at night, but Callum and Rayla wait for them to disappear into the darkened city streets anyway, just in case. 

The evening air is cold tonight, the waning crescent moon dim as it hangs low in the sky. Maybe it’s the presence of the extra guards on the streets, or maybe it’s because things have changed so dramatically, or maybe it’s their own paranoia getting the better of them, but the night is almost too still. It puts Rayla’s teeth on edge and, out of instinct, her hands twitch towards her back for weapons that aren’t there.

“Hey,” says Callum, frowning. “You okay?”

Rayla hesitates. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and something churns in her gut - like she knows there’s something hiding in the shadows and her eyes just haven’t caught up. She squints ahead of them, her hackles raised; frowns at the empty stone wall behind them, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms; her ears straining for sounds don’t quite fit in - 

But there’s nothing there. There’s only silence, and darkness, and a familiar twisting in her gut that makes her wish she had her blades.

Something doesn’t feel right about this. She’s not sure what, exactly - there’s nothing amiss in this hall, or any of the others they’ve already crossed - but something feels… off.

“Rayla.” Callum’s fingers touch her elbow and she almost jumps out of her skin. “What is it?”

Rayla hesitates. Looks up and down the hall once more, but in the end, she shakes her head. “It’s nothing,” she mutters at last. “Everything’s fine.

(She doesn’t see the guards at the postern gates collapsing into armoured heaps on the pavement, or the shadows darting across the far wall. It’s almost too late when she does).

 

x

 

“I think I’m gonna stay up for a bit,” she tells Callum when he climbs into bed. The churning in her stomach hasn’t settled in the least, and the way the baby’s moving, she might not get any sleep anyway. She rubs her belly absently - like somehow the action might soothe the child, which, in turn, might soothe her. It doesn’t - if anything, it only makes her more apprehensive, and she paces across their bedroom, uneasy and uncomfortable, until Callum catches her hand and pulls her into bed.

“What’s wrong?” he asks seriously. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

“I -” Rayla hesitates. There’s nothing there, she tells herself, because there isn’t - she’d surreptitiously checked every corner and every shadow for herself on the way in. She’s a trained assassin after all, and she’s familiar enough with this castle that she knows all the best places to hide. If she can’t see that something’s there, it’s probably not there to begin with - but the feeling gnaws at her still, settling stubbornly in her shoulders in a way that she can’t shake off. “We’re both fine,” she says at last, gripping his hand for good measure. “I just… something doesn’t feel right.”

Callum frowns at her. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “It’s hard to explain. With all that’s going on… Maybe I’m just worried. Bub’s a bit squirmy tonight as well. I’m… just gonna stay up for a bit longer, I think.”

Callum stares at her, unconvinced. “I’ll stay up with you, then.”

That makes her smile a little. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Too late, my mind’s made up.” He offers her a grin, trying to look confident and dumb, but his eyes give him away - there’s a sort of concern in them; one that trusts her instincts more than she trusts in them herself. He tries to be nonchalant about it - settles with his back against the headboard and puts his sketchbook in his lap, the way he used to all those years ago when they took in turns to keep watch.

It’s strangely soothing. Her stomach settles, her shoulders sag, and Rayla swings her feet into the bed, making herself comfortable under the covers next to him to watch him draw. It’s an old ritual - one that dates back to the old days when they’d camped out in caves and clearings with Zym. They’d been affectionate then, too - probably overly so, considering they’d only known each other a couple of months by the time they were comfortable enough to lean on each other like this - but the thought of it eases her mind.

They must fall asleep at some point, because the next thing Rayla knows is that she jerks awake in the dark.

The fire in their hearth has burnt itself out now, and Callum’s head is heavy against her horns. His sketchbook is still in his lap, but his hand is limp on the page, pencil held loosely between his fingers on top of an unfinished sketch of her smiling down at her belly. 

Her lips quirk upwards at it, but the baby squirms in her womb, and she grimaces as she pries herself out of Callum’s arms to use the bathroom. She’s pretty used to moving around in the dark, but she lights the candle on the nightstand and takes it with her anyway. The night is dark and cold, the churning in her stomach still present, even now, and the light helps. The baby flutters the whole time - it’s been more active at night, she’s noticed, and she wonders if that’s normal or if it might be a sign that it’s taking after her and her connection to the Moon. She chuckles fondly at it.

She’s on her way back to bed when she hears it - a soft clatter from down the hall. 

Rayla frowns. Her ears prick. Tension floods her body and her breath catches in her throat. She steps quietly across the room, her bare feet numb against the cold stone floor, picks the dagger off the nightstand, and presses her ear against the door.

She hears nothing. Not a breath or a whisper, but she knows what she heard, and she unsheaths the dagger as she opens the door.

There’s no one. Not even the guards posted at the end of the hall.

Her fingers curl tighter around the handle of the dagger, holding it at the ready across her chest as she ducks into the shadows and makes her way along the hallway. 

Still nothing.

Then there’s a creak. A window being opened from the opposite direction. The tell-tale creak of a bow being drawn.

She spins, stepping lightly to the left to avoid the arrow that whizzes past her ear. 

The archer is human. His armour is light, made of leather instead of metal; his bow and his arrows smaller than usual. There’s a dagger at his belt, and a pocket of throwing knives set into the leather strap across his chest - it’s a familiar set of weapons, and she would know, because she’s been trained in how to use all of them -

They’re assassin’s weapons.

“You’re not supposed to be awake,” the archer says, knocking another arrow.

Rayla snorts at him, the dagger tight in her hands. “I imagine you’re not supposed to be here, either, but here we are.” 

He smirks, drawing his bow. “We did have our misgivings,” he says, taking aim at her - at her belly - “Coming after a pregnant woman in the night is hardly sporting. This clears my conscience, just a little.”

He lets it loose without further hesitation, and Rayla dodges out its path as she lunges towards him. He shoulders the bow as she comes - parries her blow with the dagger at his belt, his movements swift and practised, even as she ducks under his arms and sweeps at his legs. 

He dodges back, using his momentum to flip out of her way, his hands flying to the set of throwing knives at his chest. He sets them at her, one after the other in such quick succession that Rayla barely has the time to scramble out of their way.

She lifts the dagger, tosses it in her hand to better throw it, but his bow is drawn again, and the arrow that flies from it clips her sleeve and pins it to the wall behind her. 

Rayla hisses, letting the dagger drop and catching it with her other hand as he smirks cruelly and knocks another arrow. 

“I thought this would be a challenge, Princess,” he sneers. “I even brought reinforcements.”

“You’ll need them,” snaps Rayla. She tosses the dagger at him with her left hand, using the distraction to yank the arrow out of her sleeve and roll out of his way before he can let his another loose. His throwing knives are still in the walls, and she takes them while he tries to recover, but she’s faster - knocks his bow out of his hands with one and gets him in the shoulder with another.

He swears. 

Rayla takes the opportunity to charge forwards, dodging out of the way of his dagger to retrieve hers at his feet. She considers, for a moment, ducking back into their room to take her blades out of Callum’s pack - but Callum’s in there, and as far as she can tell, this bastard only wants her. She heads down the stairs instead, ignoring the thwip of arrows as they fly past her ears, bracing her belly with her free hand - 

Only to find the guards stationed in their hall in a heap by her feet at the foot of the stairwell and another sword in her face. 

The second assassin smirks. “Didn’t expect to see you down here, Your Highness,” she drawls. 

“Same here,” snaps Rayla, pushing the sword out of the way with a dagger. “What do you want?”

“To get paid, obviously,” says the assassin with a smirk. “Thanks for making it so easy.” She lunges forward, swiping at Rayla’s bump, and Rayla dodges back until her back is against the wall and there’s nowhere to go. She rolls out of the way once - but the first assassin’s caught up to her now, and he slams her back against the stones, his fingers around her throat.

“You’re quick, I’ll give you that,” he hisses. “Let’s not waste anymore time, shall we?”

“Let’s not.”

The second assassin crumples first, and Rayla gasps when the fingers around her neck loosen as a spear bursts through the first’s front. 

She collapses when he does, her throat bruised and her breathing shallow, but a pair of arms haul her upwards before she has the chance to recover. “Eleni?” 

Eleni smiles grimly at her, her armour spattered with blood. “We have to get you out of here.”

“But -”

Another window crashes upstairs, and Rayla pales - there’s only one other window it could be, and Callum’s still up there, vulnerable and defenseless. She shakes her head, picking the dagger off the ground, pushing past Eleni to race back up the stairs without another word. Her heart is slamming away in her throat when she gets there, as three more assassins climb in through the window at the end of the hall.

Eleni slips in front of her, raising her sppear to give her time to get to Callum. “Go,” she snaps. “Quickly, Princess!”

Rayla does, her throat dry, shouldering their bedroom door open as Eleni spins her spear in one hand to knock an arrow of the air.

There are two more in here too, their attention on Callum as he stirs in the bed. Rayla’s heart drops through the floor, and she reacts without thinking - “Hey! You’re being paid for me, not him!”

They turn to stare at her, and they exchange glances for a moment before one shrugs and tosses his javelin at her head.

Rayla rolls out of the way. Callum’s pack is on the floor at the foot of the bed, the hilts of her blades peeking out of the gap in the material. She ducks under the swipe of the sword; dodges another throwing knife as it’s thrown at her; slides across the freezing stone floor on her knees and has the time to take one out of his pack as a sword swings at her over her head - 

She flicks the blade into its hook form, uses it to catch the assassin’s sword and knock it out of his hands. She kicks at his knees and sends him tumbling to the ground beside her, giving her enough time to take the other out of Callum’s pack but the other assassin’s too quick for her - 

He knocks her back, her weapons flying out of her hands, pain shooting through her back and her belly as she hits the ground. Then a foot flies into her chest, dangerously close to the bump, and Rayla gasps, curling into herself to protect it, her vision blurring and her blades just out of reach when -

“What the hell are you doing to my wife?”

Then there’s light in the room - bright and shimmering and magical and - 

 _“Aspiro frigis_!”

The assassins barely have time to yelp. The cold wind of Callum’s frozen breath spell blows over her, and the next thing she knows is one tipping, his arm shattering across the stones as he falls. 

She should feel relief. She should feel her morale rising. She should feel confident that they might get out of this alive now - but she cries out instead, the pain in her belly too real to ignore, even as Callum helps her up off the floor.

Eleni’s still fighting outside, and she raises a finger, tries to tell him to help her while she catches her breath -

Callum understands - he stumbles to his feet and falls clumsily through the door - 

Rayla thinks she hears him cast another spell - thinks she hears a cry and sees fire in the hall - but Moon above, it hurts and she can’t focus and something’s wrong - something’s _wrong_ \- _something’swrong_ -

She staggers to her feet, her throat raw, her chest bruised, her belly aching when she gets to the doorway to find Eleni and Callum huffing amidst the smell of smoke and burnt flesh - 

“Callum,” she rasps, clutching the bump. “Callum, something’s wrong.” She falls to her knees in the doorway, her vision going dark as blood, warm between her legs, soaks into the material of her shift.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No. This can’t be happening. This _can’t - oh gods -_

xiii.

 

Callum’s heart stops. There’s smoke in the air, and bodies on the ground, and voices sounding from the floor below them; vaguely he hears soldiers - their own, this time - clanking up the stairs and Eleni’s voice barking orders at them but none of it registers. Time slows. He forgets how to breathe. His knees buckle, but he hardly feels the ground as it rushes up to meet them.

Rayla -

The baby -

No. This can’t be happening. This _can’t_ \- _oh gods_ -

“Your Highness.”

That’s Eleni, he thinks. She sounds as terrified as he feels, her voice hoarse and shaking, but there’s a maternal sort of authority in it restarts time. “Your Highness - we have to get her to Rowena. There might still be time to save the baby, but we have to go _now._ ”

Callum starts forward - catches Rayla with shaking hands as she sways on her knees, the stain on her shift growing slowly but steadily as his heart hammers in half-seconds in his throat. “Go,” he manages. “Take Vorobey. We’ll - we’ll meet you at _The Wishbone_.”

“Your Highness - what if there are more of them?”

“I’ll deal with them if there are,” snaps Callum. “Go. _Hurry.”_

Hesitation flashes in Eleni’s eyes, but she doesn’t argue. Her armour rattles as she sprints down the hall, and Callum turns back to Rayla at last, his face pale as he re-adjusts his grip on her shoulders.

“Rayla,” he mutters. “Rayla, look at me. We have to get you out of here. Things might still be okay, but we have to go now, okay? Can you stand?”

She only whimpers, the pain and the panic too much to deal with at once. She shuts her eyes tight against his shoulder; braces herself against it as he tries to lift them both off the ground, but she lets out a cry as they straighten, her body curling in on itself, the fingers of her free hand clutched tightly under the bump.

Callum grimaces, reluctant to hurt her more or to make it worse, but there are few other options. He slips an arm under her knees and _lifts_ ; holds her to his chest like she’s precious cargo, and hurries down the hall. The stables aren’t so far from here, and if he moves quickly, they might still be able to -

He swallows the thought, afraid to hope.

They don’t run into any other assassins. Vaguely, Callum feels the beginnings of a thought about that and its implications, but Rayla groans in his arms and it vanishes. There’s only room for one thing in his mind right now, and it’s her and the baby and _gods,_ he’s scared, _please_ let them be okay, _please_ let there be _time_ -

“Callum,” she whines. “Callum, the baby -”

“I know.” He swallows, holding her tighter still as he rushes out of central keep and down the bailey steps. The stables are _there,_ and Kuritsa’s outside, saddled and ready and waiting with the guards that appeared in the tower. One rushes forward to meet him, his arms open to take Rayla from him but Callum hesitates -

For a split second, he forgets how to trust them - like he’s afraid to let anyone else touch her; afraid that they might want her dead too - but the guard’s expression softens, understanding in his eyes. He backs away immediately, and then the split second is gone, and Callum nods, and beckons him forward again. There are words caught helpless in his throat - a thanks, maybe? He’s not really sure - but he lets the guard take Rayla; mounts Kuritsa, settling against the back half of the saddle, and braces his wife in his arms as the guard passes her back.

Kuritsa brays under their weight, unused to carrying the both of them, and Callum mutters an apology to her, his free hand patting her mane.

“Find my brother,” he tells the guards, shaking Kuritsa’s reigns with one clumsy hand. “Tell him what happened. Make sure he’s safe.” To Rayla, he adds, “Hold on, okay? Just a little bit longer.”

She sucks in a shuddering breath - a sob - and says nothing else.

 

x

 

Time slows again while they ride. Callum could swear that the trip is faster than this when Kuritsa’s _walking_ , but he even in the canter he urges her into, it still feels like hours before the hanging sign of _The Wishbone_ even comes into view.

Vorobey’s already there, and Eleni and Rowena must hear Kuritsa’s hooves against the stones or something because they come rushing out to meet them as the mare slows to a stop. There’s a lamp swinging from Rowena’s hands that sheds light onto the stain on Rayla’s shift for the first time - dark and red and wet against the deep green of her skirt - and Callum feels his throat close at the sight of it.

“How much blood has she lost?”

“That - that’s it, I think,” he manages hoarsely.

He thinks he hears Rowena murmur a, “ _Thanks the gods_ ,” under her breath, and his throat opens again, daring to hope. She and Eleni hold their arms out, easing Rayla from the saddle with careful hands, and Rayla whimpers as they tug her out of his grasp.

Her knees buckle when her feet touch the ground, but Rowena catches her, her shoulder braced under Rayla’s armpit as she helps her into the shop.

Ailas is there too, a second lantern in hand. “Sit her down,” he says, stepping forward. “Just there, by the counter. Callum - yeah, behind her - let her lean on you.”

“Your Highness,” says Rowena. There’s kindness in her voice, even in its urgency. “Your Highness, listen to me - we need to see what bub’s doing, okay? Listen - you have to calm down -”

“It - it hurts,” sobs Rayla, her fingers still tense around the swell of her belly. “I - the baby -”

“I know. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She gives Callum a look, and suddenly Callum understands why Ailas had asked him to let Rayla lean against him.

“Rayla, it’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing his lips onto the crown of her head, not entirely believing it himself. He kisses the space between her horns; whispers words of comfort into her hair; blinks back tears of panic and fear and anguish, because _one_ of them needs to be strong right now, and it’s not fair to expect her to be when _she’s_ the one in pain. “I’m here,” he mutters as Rowena scrambles for her bag of equipment. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

“Princess, I need to have a look down here, okay?” says Rowena, lifting the edge of her skirt. “I need to see what’s happening. It’ll be a little uncomfortable, but bear with me for just a little bit. It’ll only be for a moment. Can I do that?”

Rayla nods, a whimper caught in her throat, her muscles tense and shaking as Rowena takes a speculum from her bag, rubs it down with alcohol and lubricant, and ducks between her legs. Her grip around Callum’s fingers tightens, and she lets out a cry when Rowena presses the instrument into her and shifts the lantern to have a look.

“Bleeding’s stopped,” she mutters to Ailas, removing the speculum. “Princess, can you feel the baby? Is it still moving?”

Rayla sucks in a breath. “I - I don’t -”

“I know it hurts, but you have to feel past that for me,” says Rowena urgently. “Can you feel the baby moving?”

She swallows, her eyes shut tight. When she opens them again, she nods.

“Ailas.”

“You got it.” He draws a rune in the air over her belly, shimmering and orange, and mutters “ _Mappa sanguim caloris,”_ under his breath. The rune glows - Callum winces against it and the way it sheds light on the blood smeared against the inside of Rayla’s thighs - but it sinks into the swell of her belly and she gasps, her breath catching as it glows and settles under her skin.

Rayla stills in his arms, and even in his panic, Callum feels the air leave his lungs, the shape of their baby visible as a whole for the first time in the incandescence of Ailas’ magic. Its limbs are spindly and fragile, its head large and a little alien, but its heart is there, fluttering away, beating stubbornly in its tiny, luminous chest. In front of him, Rayla draws a shuddering breath, her grip and shoulders relaxing while Rowena traces the lines of light around her belly.

“Looks like a partial abruption,” Ailas mutters to Rowena, and she nods in agreement.

“Bub’s not in any distress. Bleeding’s stopped. Tetany’s settling but I think part of that was panic. I think we might be in the clear.”

The light fades, and Ailas lets out a breath.

Callum stares at them both. There’s still a question hanging in the air that he’s too terrified to ask, his heart beating so quickly in his chest that he’s positive Rayla can feel it against her back, but Rowena smiles at them both.

It’s small, but it’s reassuring, and her shoulders slump in relief as she sits back against her haunches. “Your Highness,” she says gently, shuffling forwards. “Princess. Baby’s okay. Baby’s fine. We need to keep an eye on you for a few days in case anything else happens, but the baby’s doing perfectly, all things considered.”

Callum’s breath leaves him in a rush, and, in front of him, Rayla lets out a sob and pries a hand of his grip. She sets it tentatively against her belly, hardly daring to believe it, but the baby shifts against her hand - Callum _sees_ it - a little wave of movement under the dark green fabric of her shift, too deliberate to be anything else.

“You’re _okay_ ,” manages Rayla hoarsely. There are tears in her eyes, and she’s so relieved that she doesn’t even stop them when they spill. “You’re okay, you stubborn wee thing.”

“Taking after mum already,” mutters Callum. He presses another kiss into the crown of Rayla’s head and _breathes_ , trying to slow the hammering of his heart by reminding himself that she’s there, and she’s okay, and their baby’s doing _fine_.

Behind them, they hear Eleni let out a relieved sigh as well. Callum had almost forgotten she was still here, and he turns as best as he can to face her. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “All of you, I mean. But you especially. If you hadn’t - even before this, things might’ve - ”

“It’s just my job, Your Highness,” says Eleni with a little smile. “I should head back. Make sure His Majesty’s been made aware of what’s happened and that he’s safe.”

“Please,” says Callum. “Thanks again.”

She nods, bows to them both, and steals a kiss from her husband’s lips before she heads back out into the street.

It’s getting lighter out there - the sky a deep shade of blue through the mended glass of the storefront window. For the first time, Callum catches sight of the bruises around Rayla’s neck and peeking out of the neckline of her shift - dark, menacing patches of purple against the alabaster of her skin that remind him why they’re here at all.

Someone tried to kill her.

Someone tried to _kill_ her.

The gravity of it hits him all at once and the relief in his system gives way to _fury_ boiling away in the pit of his stomach.

Someone tried to _kill her_ and if she hadn’t been awake when she had been, they might have _succeeded_ . Gods, they came so _close_ that they almost lost their _baby_. It should scare him, he thinks, but he’s had enough with being scared today, and it’s barely even dawn.

He sets his jaw. Holds Rayla to him in the tightest embrace he can muster, his own tears hidden amidst the sweat and the smoke in her hair.

Rayla shudders against him; her thoughts and her emotions a veritable mess as she curls her fingers around his and sobs into their hands. They sit there for a moment, an exhausted, emotional heap, before she moves at last, trying to ease herself into sitting up on her own. The cry that slips from her lips almost sets him into a panic again, but Rowena eases her back down.

“It - it still hurts,” she groans.

Rowena nods. “It will for a while,” she says. “And I’m afraid that means we have to restrict you to bed rest for the week, at least. You need time to heal.”

“We can’t go back to the castle,” mutters Callum. “Assassins broke in once. They’ll do it again.”

“I can’t stay _here_ ,” manages Rayla. “If - if they want me dead, then we can’t put Ailas and his family in danger. I _won’t_.”

“You can stay here the week you need to recover,” says Ailas sharply, the authority of the healer he used to be evident in the way he stares them down. “An abruption like this… I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous this was. We need to keep an eye on you, and we need to do it somewhere they won’t think to look for you. Somewhere close and already protected by magic. That place is here.”

“He’s right,” says Rowena, kinder than Ailas but still firm and closed to any further argument. “Any unnecessary movement right now might make things worse. And… if it does get worse… we won’t have a choice but to induce labour, and bub’s not ready for that yet.”

 _That_ makes Rayla swallow. She touches her belly once more, her fingers shaking and more afraid of anything than he’s ever seen her.

“I’ll put up some extra charms,” Callum says at last. “And as soon as you think it’s okay, we’ll find somewhere else. We’re grateful for your hospitality, Ailas, but we’re not putting you or your family in any more danger than we need to.”

“That’s considerate of you,” says Ailas, his lips twitching. “Eleni still has some of her maternity wear upstairs. I’m sure she won’t mind if you borrow a dress or two, Princess. Let’s get you comfortable - I feel like it’s going to be a long week.”

 

x

 

They draw a bath for her upstairs.

Their bathroom is a little cramped, but Callum doesn’t mind it - if anything, it’s comforting that she’s never further than arm’s reach from him, if that. The bruises on her neck and on her chest are clearer than ever in the early-morning light, and but he doesn’t look at them. Knowing that they’re there - that those _bastards_ came _that_ close to taking her from him forever - only makes him furious, and she doesn’t need that right now. Instead, he helps her wash up; helps her wash her hair, and clean the dried blood from her thighs, and scrub the sweat off her skin in the places she can’t quite reach.

She doesn’t argue with him about it once.

It’s odd behaviour for her, but given the events of the night, he doesn’t really blame her. She lets him work in silence, never once complaining that about the fact that she’s _not an invalid_ , or that she can _take care of herself,_ and when he helps her out of the bath, she clutches him for support and lets him tug the shift Ailas had laid out for her over her head.

“Are you okay?” he asks her at last, his voice hardly louder than a whisper when he tucks her into Lessa’s bed.

“‘M fine,” she murmurs, refusing to look at him. “I just -” She cuts herself off. “I don’t really want to talk about this.”

“We don’t have to,” says Callum quickly. “It’s been a long night and… I’m just glad you’re okay. _Both_ of you.”

“Me too.” Her fingers find his over the sheets, almost timid in their movements, but when she takes his hand, her grip is firm. “I -” She pauses, looking unsure how to phrase what she wants to say.

“It’s okay. You don’t -”

“No,” says Rayla. There’s strength in her voice now, and when he looks, he sees a fire in her eyes, stubborn and angry and unwavering in the face of this morning’s events. “I was scared, Callum,” she admits quietly. Dangerously. Like if she wasn’t confined to bedrest, she’d be tearing down the kingdom on her own in an effort to find the poor mistaken soul who tried to harm their child. “I’m still scared. And I thought, for the longest time, that I was just afraid of water and of being a mother but -” She sucks in a breath. “I have _never_ known fear like this. But you know what else? I’m _pissed._ Someone paid those _bastards_ to kill me and our baby and I’m willing to bet that same someone is riling up the people of Katolis. They have to go.”

For a moment, Callum stares. There’s a part of him that wants to argue, but he’s angry too - the bruising around her neck reminds him of that - and the grim determination set in the line of her lips is hard to rebuke. He gets it - really, he does - but she’s still confined to bedrest, and even when Rowena gives them the all clear, he can’t _let_ her be part of the manhunt to find the worthless piece of _shit_ that tried to have her killed - not when they put them in this position in the first place. “Rayla,” he starts gently. “Please understand - you _can’t_ -”

“I know _I_ can’t,” she snaps. “But _you_ can. You’re the most powerful archmage in the world. You can find them, and when you do -” she winces as the baby kicks, probably a little too hard against her still-tender womb, but the fire in her eyes burns even brighter still.

Her grip around his hand tightens. “Make them pay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: Again, I'm not a midwife or a doctor - I'm just a scientist who works closely (enough, and in relative terms) with Emergency and Birth Suite. Rayla has had a mild to moderate placental abruption: a condition in which the placenta partially separates from the lining of the uterus. It's one of the primary causes of vaginal bleeding in pregnancies later than twenty weeks (she'll be at twenty-one-ish now) and can be caused by a range of things but, in this case, trauma. 
> 
> There's not much to do in terms of treatment - if the placenta fully detaches, the only thing a doctor or midwife _can_ do is induce labour if bub is old enough to tolerate it. Here, we're treading the line between mild and moderate, where Rayla's had a partial abruption but doesn't need immediate intervention, and where bub is in no distress and so doesn't need immediate delivery. 
> 
> Don't take my word for it though - I just hand out blood in the case that someone needs it, but google is a cool thing! Apologies to any midwives or doctors who read this and know immediately if I screwed up. It's just a dumb pregnancy fic, guys, just let me have this hahahaha!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She hates the idea, huh?” says Ez. “Rayla? Having to hide from someone who tried to kill her? I’ll bet she’s _furious_.”

xiv.

 

“You’ll wear a hole into the floor like that.”

Commander Gren says it, but it’s his Aunt Amaya who means it. Ezran doesn’t like the throne room at the best of times - it’s cold and uncomfortable and far bigger than it needs to be, and it feels wrong to be here for anything other than ceremonial purposes. At most, he has council meetings here, and once a month, he uses it to hold court, but most days it stays empty - he has better things to do than sit in a chair within an empty room all day, and being a servant of the people is hardly something he can do from here. But it is, by far, the safest room in the castle - it’s well guarded with only one way in or out with no hallways and shadows to hide in, and it’s where he’s been pacing since he was woken up before dawn this morning to be told that someone had hired assassins to murder of the Princess of Katolis.

He’s heard nothing from Callum. There’s been no news since Eleni came back looking haggard and exhausted, her armour covered in blood. At the very least, he knows that Rayla and the baby are okay, but beyond that -

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, his circlet heavy on his brow.

Aunt Amaya’s been here too. He hadn’t asked her to be - she’d come on her own, refusing to be anywhere but her nephew’s side while her men and the rest of Ezran’s Crownguard comb through the castle, looking for people who look out of place and things don’t quite fit. They’ve so far turned up nothing, which to him, suggests that their ranks haven’t been infiltrated so much as they’ve been betrayed. It’s _that_ that concerns him, because they _already_ have a limited pool of people they can trust, and this only limits it more.

Aunt Amaya’s smile is grim, but there’s an attempt at reassurance in it, even if there is a hardness in her eyes that betrays her otherwise collected demeanor. When she signs at him again, her words are kind.

“They’re okay, Ez,” interprets Commander Gren. “The baby too. They’re all fine.”

But Ez scowls at her. “It still _happened_ , didn’t it?” he snarls. “Someone tried to _kill_ Rayla right under our noses, and they almost _did._ Gods, what if she hadn’t been awake? What if Eleni hadn’t been there? What if -”

“‘ _What if_ ’s don’t make a difference,” he hears Gren say on her behalf. “They’re safe. All that we can do from this point is make sure that they continue to be, and you need a clear head to do that. Panicking won’t help.”

“I’m not _panicking_ ,” snaps Ez, although yeah, now that he thinks of it, yeah he is. Personally he thinks it’s a rather reasonable response, but Aunt Amaya’s only trying to help, and it’s not so becoming to snap at her when she’s right. He takes a breath, trying to settle his thoughts and slow the still-frantic racing of his heart. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, stopping at last. “Besides you, they’re the only family I have left. I can’t - I could never forgive myself if - “

She smiles at him. It’s closer to real this time, and there’s something sort of maternal in it that makes Ez grateful for her patience.

“I understand. But you need to be strong now. You can’t help them like this.”

She’s right and he knows it. His thoughts are a mess, and while he knows in his head that Rayla and the baby are _safe_ and _okay_ , he’s having trouble getting past the fact that someone attacked her to begin with. There has to be a response to this now, and he doesn’t even know where to begin. Should he tell his people? Should they know that the castle was broken into, and that their Princess was almost assassinated in her bed? Do they even have a right to know? What would that mean for Rayla? What would that mean for _Katolis_?

What are they even supposed to do _now?_

Ezran groans, and it feels like his circlet gets even heavier still. His father used to say he was lucky - to be born into the royal family of Katolis; to have the opportunity to live as comfortably as he does, and to have the power to effect change - but this?

This _sucks_.

The throne room doors creak open then, and when he looks, he sees Callum, still in his bed clothes with blood on his sleeves and an unhappy scowl on his face. He glares at the guards who escorted him, irritated that they felt the need to in the first place, and he waits until they bow out of the room and shut the doors after him before he storms across the throne room towards the dais.

Ez meets him halfway, not quite so angry, but worried for him and wanting to help. “How is she?” he asks him quietly.

Callum takes a breath. “Okay,” he mutters. “Her and the baby, both. They’re - they’re both -” His voice cracks. His anger fails him.

Ez does the only thing that makes sense: he pulls his brother into a hug, his arms tight around Callum’s shoulders, his face buried into his chest. He doesn’t ask any more questions. He just gives him time to think, and settle, and _breathe._  It’s all he can offer right now. Callum’s a _wreck_ , and it’s entirely reasonable for him to be - he’d nearly lost his wife and unborn child in one fell swoop and Ez can’t even imagine how much it kills him to be separated from them now.

Callum shudders, and when he exhales against Ez’s hair, it comes out with a sob.

Vaguely, Ez hears the clanking of armour and the next thing he knows is their aunt enveloping them both. It’s comforting, to be surrounded all sides by the family that he has left, and he wishes Rayla were here too, because she probably needs it the most.

“She’s fine,” Callum whispers at last, more to himself, probably, than to Ez and Aunt Amaya. “They’re fine. They’re both fine.”

“They’re too stubborn to be anything else,” says Ez with a grim chuckle. “And they’re going to _stay_ fine. I promise. You guys’ll have your happily ever after, I swear it.”

Callum snorts a little in spite of himself, and when he pulls back, he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands and clears his throat with a cough. “What are we doing, then?” he asks, his voice firm, if a little hoarse. “This bastard needs to go. Where do we start?”

Aunt Amaya responds first, but her hands are too quick for Ez to keep up.

“With the things we can do immediately,” Gren says for her. “My own soldiers are searching the castle. I’m… concerned that there’s a traitor amongst your guards, but until we can confirm that there is…”

“She’s not safe here,” Callum finishes. “We know. She’s…” He pauses, glancing surreptitiously around the empty throne room. “Things came… _really_ close to being _really_ bad. We can’t move her yet. Rowena thinks it might be a week before she’ll be okay enough to travel, and even then, she can’t go far. Her uncles’ place would have been ideal but…” He grimaces.

“She hates the idea, huh?” says Ez. “Rayla? Having to hide from someone who tried to kill her? I’ll bet she’s _furious_.”

“‘ _Furious_ ’ sounds about right,” scoffs Callum. “But she’s… come to terms with it, I think. She can’t - _we_ can’t really afford to be stubborn about this.” He huffs, wrinkling his nose at the dried blood on his sleeves, looking as if he’d rather she could be. A meek Rayla in the face of danger like this is a foreign concept to all of them, but the blood on his sleeves is hers, Ez realizes, and the reality of how close she’d come to losing the baby hits him like a brick in the face.

The thought makes him shudder. “What about the Banther Lodge?” he suggests after a moment. “It’s out of the way, but only a day or so from here on horseback, if that. If we’re discrete about who goes with her, no one would even know she’s there.”

Aunt Amaya nods at him.

“It’s a solid option,” interprets Gren. “Winter’s a little way away yet. She could stay there until she has the baby, if she needs to. She’d be safe, and it’ll give us time to find the -” He makes a face at Aunt Amaya - “ _scumbag_ ,” he says pointedly, “who tried to have her killed.”

“Where are we on that front, exactly?”

Ez and Aunt Amaya share a look. “We… haven’t found anything,” he admits quietly. “The assassins that broke in - they’re all… well… they’re all dead, thanks to you guys. There’s nothing to say who hired them, and the guards at the gates and posted nearest your room don’t remember a thing. But there _had_ to have been a contact on the inside. This castle is _huge_ but somehow they knew the exact room you both were sleeping in? Someone had to have told them.”

Something dark crosses Callum’s face, and it almost makes Ezran wince. He was there the day they won the war; he’s _personally_ seen Callum defeat stronger, more powerful enemies than some coward who ordered an attack on a pregnant woman - but he’s never seen him like _this_ . There’s _rage_ in the green of his eyes - it’s merciless and unforgiving, and, most of all, _terrifying_ , even to him.

“What are we waiting for, then?” asks Callum shortly. “If we find the traitor, we find this bastard. Let’s start interviewing the guards.”

Ez swallows. “Callum -” he starts, but he falters, unsure what he even wants to say. He has every right _and more_ to be as angry as he is, but… Ez has never been scared of his brother, and he’s not sure he wants to start now. “I know you’re angry,” he says at last. “But -”

“Anger like this isn’t such a good look for a Prince and ambassador,” Gren finishes in Aunt Amaya’s stead.

Callum rounds on her unhappily. “Are you asking me _not_ to go and find the people who tried to kill _my wife_?”

“I’m asking you to be _patient_ ,” says Gren, his voice sharp, the way Ez imagines Aunt Amaya’s voice would be if she could tell Callum off herself. “ _You_ are under scrutiny from every single person in the Five Kingdoms and it’s unbecoming for a _Prince_ _and ambassador_ , particularly one as powerful as yourself, to go looking for a fight. Let my men do this. You have a reputation to protect.”

 _“Reputation?”_ scowls Callum. “Who _cares_ about my reputation, someone tried to have Rayla _assassinated_ -”

“What happens afterwards?” interrupts Ez quickly. “If you go after whoever hired those assassins now - if you _find_ them - what happens then? You and Rayla won’t _stop_ being ambassadors after this. People will still look to you to be an example of the peace you’ve both been working so hard to broker.” He makes a face at his brother, halfway between scared and pleading. “I know you’re mad, Callum, and you have every right to be - but this person’s trying to start a _civil war_. It won’t help if you go looking for revenge. Let Aunt Amaya do this.”

Aunt Amaya nods at him.

“He’s right, Callum. You know he is. This shouldn’t be your first priority anyway. Your first priority should be making sure Rayla will be _safe._ ”

Callum’s anger fails him a second time because he knows it’s true, and Ez sees it flash across his face. His grimace is guilty, especially when he looks down and catches sight of the blood on his sleeves once more.

“They’ll get what’s coming to them,” Ez tells him. “I promise you they will, and you’ll be there when the time comes. Rayla too, and I _swear_ that we’ll never let anything like this happen ever again. This whole situation is delicate, and the last thing we want is for people to see their Prince starting a civil war over this. For all we know, that’s what they want. _Please._ Just be _patient._ ”

Callum says nothing. His hands are balled into fists by his sleeves, his teeth bared together, and he has the look of someone trying _really_ hard to stay civil. In the end, he huffs. “Fine,” he mutters darkly. That look is in his eye again, even if he does refuse to look at either of him. “Find them,” he bids Aunt Amaya. “`Or so help me, _I_ will.”

For his sake, Ez hopes almost hopes that he doesn’t.

 

x

 

A week and a half, Rowena says. A week of bedrest, and a half week of observation to make sure that Rayla can stand and walk on her own without complication.

Callum sees her _twice_ the whole time, afraid that going to see her more often might reveal her location and put her in more danger than she already is. The first time, it’s to bring her her things - her blades and her own clothes and a letter from Ezran, apologising profusely for not being able to see her himself. He’d argued when Callum told him he couldn’t, but a King going out of his way to visit a little shop like this would arouse suspicion, and the last thing they need is for anyone else to know where she is when she can barely use the bathroom without being in pain.

She’d looked sullen that first morning, obviously sick of being cooped up in Ailas and Eleni’s tiny apartment, being fussed over by everyone and waited on for everything, but she’d never once complained - the consequences of being stubborn about this are _far_ too real to ignore, and as much as she hates being confined to bed, the baby comes first - and that’s her decision and no one else’s.

The second time, it’s to update her on their plans. She takes the decision to be sent into hiding at the Banther Lodge without argument; agrees that she should travel there in the back of Ailas’ merchant wagon; and only objects to being accompanied by some sort of guard because she doesn’t know who to trust anymore and, in all fairness, Callum thinks she’s right.

It feels stupid put her safety in the hands of soldiers - even Aunt Amaya’s - when they’ve just been betrayed by one of their own, but it’s stupider still to send her away without protection.

“What about us?” Soren offers over lunch that day. “Clauds and I can go with her.”

“No offense,” says Rayla drily, “but aren’t you technically a cripple, and isn’t Claudia a mage who can’t do magic?”

Soren sneers at her. “No offense, but aren’t _you_ pregnant with a kid you put at risk of losing every time you move?”

Rayla ducks her gaze at that. It’s not like it’s untrue, but it’s never been presented so bluntly to her - to either of them, and it makes Callum’s throat feel tight. He grips her hand under the table; squeezing her fingers until he hears her swallow her discontent with Soren.

“You’re not exactly what you used to be,” she says to him. “If someone _does_ find us - you’re hardly in a position to -” She takes a steadying breath, like she hates that she has to say it but knows she doesn’t have a choice - “ _protect_ me.”

“Actually,” interrupts Ailas. He bounces Terryn in his arms, grinning at the way his son’s eyes go wide at the lights he conjures between his fingers. “I may have something to help with that. It’s not a permanent solution,” he adds sharply to Soren. “But it may help the circumstances. When will you be leaving?”

“As soon as Rowena’s happy,” says Callum. “We’re not waiting any longer than we need to.”

“A couple of days then. Enough time to organize some things.” Ailas coos at Terryn. “Leave it with me,” he says to Soren and Rayla. “I have something for Claudia too. If you’re happy for them to go with you, that is.”

They look to her for a decision - all of them - and in the end, Rayla sighs. “Better them than anyone else, I suppose,” she mumbles.

 

x

 

It’s a quick couple of days. It’s like Callum blinks, and then they’re gone, and Rayla will be the furthest from him than she has been in years in the most vulnerable state of her life. The reality of it doesn’t really set in until he gets to _The Wishbone_ before dawn that morning, when he spots her talking quietly in the back room with Rowena, his cloak over her shoulders, the ends of her blades peeking out of a little pack at her feet.

Soren and Claudia are there already, both yawning over mugs of Claudia’s hot-brown-morning-potion trying to look attentive while Ailas goes over their plan once more.

They’re supposed to go first, under the guise of a hunting trip to help Soren in his recovery. Rowena will travel with Rayla in the back of Ailas’ wagon, and they’ll rendezvous at the Banther Lodge tomorrow afternoon when Ailas drops them off on his way ‘back to Xadia for more merchandise’.

It’s risky.

 _So_ , so risky.

But the less people involved, the better, and Callum feels his stomach settle just a little when Ailas hands Soren a sunforge blade within its sheath, and a tiny bottle of potion. “That’s _mine_ ,” he says sharply, pointing at the blade. “It’s yours to _borrow_ until it’s safe for Rayla to come back. That -” he points at the bottle - “is a Potenserum. It’ll give you enough strength and dexterity for about half a day if you get into a fight, but it’ll put you into a wheelchair for a couple of days once that strength wears off. Do _not_ use it lightly.”

When he turns to Claudia, he pauses. He studies her for a moment, like he's gauging her readiness for whatever it is he wants to give her, but in the end, he unlocks the chest in the back corner of the room and presents her with a box and a little book. “I was going to assist you in making one when you were ready,” he tells her, “but the circumstances are dire, and you need it.”

“What is it?” Claudia yawns, but any traces of sleep disappear when she opens the box. “Is this -”

“A Primal Stone?” Ailas nods at her, a hint of pride in the smirk on his lips. “It has Moonlight from a full moon in it, and the book contains a number of spells. It was a gift from the elves in Lantha from a very long time ago. You’ll find better uses for it than I will, at least in the immediate future.”

“Ailas, I couldn’t -”

“You will,” he says firmly. “It’s not a gift. It’s a responsibility. You can’t protect our Princess and her little Moonbeam without it and I don’t imagine His Highness would be pleased with you if anything were to happen to them.”

“I wouldn’t,” says Callum at last. “Thank you for doing this. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

They blink at him like they’ve only just realized he’s there, but Claudia grins, mutters a ‘ _thank you’_ to Ailas, and slips the glowing Primal Stone into her bag.

“You weren’t asking,” she says. “We offered. And you know, after the trouble we put you and Rayla through in those early days, I feel like it’s the least we can do.”

Callum smiles at them both, more grateful to them than he ever thought possible. “Take care of her, okay?” he says, opening his arms to hug one, and then the other. “Swear to me she’ll be safe.”

“She will be,” says Claudia. “And just for your peace of mind, you can have this.” She pulls her message mirror from her bag and presses it into his hands. “You know how to use it, yeah? Just write into it, wherever you are, and Rayla will see it on hers and vice versa. We’ll look after her, Callum. We promise.”

“They shouldn’t have to,” grumbles Rayla, easing herself out of her seat. She winces a little, but she can walk now without too much trouble. Rowena trails after her awkwardly, but Ailas catches her shoulder and jerks his head at the back door.

“Give them some privacy, Rowie,” Callum hears him say as he ushers her out to the wagon.

“We should probably get going too,” says Soren. “We’ll see you at the lodge.”

“Be safe,” adds Claudia, hugging them both quickly. “Keep in touch. We’ll see you soon.”

They wave, and then they’re gone - the little bell at the front entrance _dings_ as they leave the shop, and then it’s just him and Rayla, alone in the back room of _The Wishbone,_ together for the last time before what will probably be months apart.

He can’t go with her. He’d come to terms with that when they made the decision to send her into hiding. He’s needed here - _Ez_ needs him here, to help quell a civil war before it even starts, and to help Aunt Amaya look for the coward who tried to have her killed in whatever way she’ll let him. Visiting her will only give away her hiding place and they know - they _both_ do - that this is for the best.

It doesn’t hurt any less though. For a moment, Callum doesn’t even have anything to say, and instead, he tugs her into his arms and holds her tight. “I’m sorry it has to be like this,” he murmurs into her hair, but Rayla shakes her head against his shoulder.

“Just find the person doing this,” she says. “The sooner you do, the sooner I can come back.”

He sighs against her; feels the baby shift in her belly and chuckles, pulling back to place his hands on the bump. “It won’t be for long, little one,” he says. “Make sure your mum doesn’t do anything silly, okay? You and her have to be safe.”

In spite of herself, Rayla laughs. “If only there was someone to make sure you did the same,” she says, sad little smile on her lips. She pulls away from him for a moment, waddling carefully to her pack to pull her blades from it. “Take these,” she says, holding them out to him. “They won’t do me any good, but… if things go south here… if there’s ever a point where you can’t use magic, at least you’ll have them.”

“I can’t leave you unarmed.”

“I can’t use them anyway.” She chuckles ruefully, a hand resting on her belly. “You can. Please. Just take them. Just be _safe_.”

Callum snorts, but he accepts them anyway and presses a kiss into her hair. In return, he unhooks the Aanya's dagger from his belt and puts it in her hand. “It saved your life once,” he murmurs. “It might do it again, if you need it.”

She nods, her voice caught in her throat, and Callum pulls her back to him, trying to remember the way she fits in his arms; trying to force the seconds to slow - to give them more _time_ \- but the back door swings open and Ailas clears his throat.

“We have to make a move,” he tells them, and Callum sighs and nods into her hair.

“I love you,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“I know,” whispers Rayla. “I love you, too.”

Then her warmth is gone. Ailas ushers her through the back door and into the wagon. He climbs into the front, clicks his tongue at the horses, and the whole thing lurches into motion.

Callum watches them go, a lump forming in his throat.

Rayla peers out at him from the space in the canopy, the violet of her eyes glum and miserable, before it closes altogether and the wagon disappears into the streets.

 

x

 

“You told me it wouldn’t _fail_ ,” snaps the guard. He snarls at Balan, all but tossing his sword into the ground in his anger. “You told me there would be nothing to implicate me, and now your assassins are dead, General Amaya’s men are interrogating every guard, and Her Highness is being shipped away to gods only know where!”

Balan smirks at him. It’s still early - barely past sunrise - and he understands the guard’s frustration, but he’s not foolish enough to divulge his _whole_ plan to someone so easily angered. In all honesty, he thinks it’s amazing that Amaya and her men haven’t found him out yet. He’s hardly discrete.

“Patience, friend,” he says, his voice amused and oily. “All things in good time.”

“Is this a _joke_ to you?” snaps the guard. “This plan of yours is going to _pieces_ . It _already_ has!”

“Has it?” Balan asks, his smirk only growing wider. He slides his pile of maps to him and taps the little blip moving out of the city. “Have a little faith. We’re only just getting started.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to tumblr user @cloudburst-paint-water who helped me work out a few kinks in my story boarding. This one's going out to you!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hear that, little one?” she mumbles. “Dad misses us. We miss him too, don’t we?”

_part three_

 

xv.

  


It’s quiet at the lodge.

Rayla wakes every morning to the sun as it shines on her bed, and to the earthy smell of autumn through open windows. It’s getting colder now - the trees around the lodge are going bare, the brown and orange of their leaves littered all over the grounds, and there are days when the peace falls so heavily that even the _hush_ of the nearby river fills her ears over the sounds of the lodge’s other occupants.

It’s simple. Serene. Pleasant, even, compared to the hustle and bustle of life in the castle and on the road.

But it also _sucks_ and every minute of it drags on far longer that it feels like it should.

It’d been something of a novelty at first. Rayla still remembers her first time here, and, despite the circumstances, she’d had a bit of a giggle to herself when they’d first arrived. It was followed up immediately by a longing for Callum, of course - it’s a little pathetic, if she does say so herself, but in her defense, she’s hormonal, and at least Callum would get the joke. She’d met General Amaya for the first time in that room; had Bait blind her men down there; had that stand off with her over by the river - it was considerably less funny at the time, but things have changed so much since that it borders on hilarious _now_.

Callum had brought her here a second time a couple of years ago for good measure. It was in the winter, and he’d been rather insistent that she learned the Banther Lodge’s actual purpose. He had taken her sledding then, and had built snowmen and snowelves with her around back, and had taught her how to skate on the river after it had frozen over. She’s pretty fond of those memories, and maybe one day, if they survive all this, they might come back with their little Moonbeam and do the same -

But that thought only makes the longing feel worse.

They’ve been here two months now. The novelty has long since worn off.

In all fairness, Rayla tries to remind herself, the quiet is good. Every day that nothing happens is a sure sign that they’re _safe_. That had been the whole point, after all - to send her away somewhere quiet and hidden where no one would think to look for her and finish what those assassins had tried to start - but every day wears on and every day is the same.

Soren whistles loudly when he goes on patrol every morning, coming back with rabbits from the traps set around the lodge in the afternoon.

Claudia hums while she bakes and practises Moon magic with her primal stone and her book of spells on the bank of the river.

Rowena fusses over her, taking measurements and making notes and trailing after her like a concerned shadow.

It’s not that Rayla’s growing tired of their company - they’re her friends, and she’d much rather them over a retinue of soldiers she doesn’t know or trust, but they’re not _Callum_ , and every time the baby moves or kicks against her palm makes her miss him more. She’s just under thirty weeks along now - her gait is closer to a waddle; her back is sore, and her breasts tender; and she’s grumpy a lot, both because she’s hormonal and because she wishes there was something more she could _do._

She should be in the capitol, with Callum and Ez. She should be _helping_ them, in whatever way she can - she should be doing _something_ to help find the bastard who tried to have her killed, or to stop rising tensions in the city.

She shouldn’t be _here_ , hiding away because she’s helpless and vulnerable and _weak._

She ends up sitting on the front steps, most days, message mirror in hand waiting impatiently on news from Katolis and for the little drawings that sometimes appear in the glass. Today, it’s a little doodle of her, belly round, flowers in her hair, little smile on her face, and a note -

_Tension rising in the other kingdoms now too. Ez’s sending letters to the other leaders of the Pentarchy for a summit on how to handle it. Still nothing on the assassination front. I’m sorry it’s taking so long. I miss you both._

It’s a short message, but that’s not so surprising - things have only gotten messier since she left, and more than anything, it makes her wish she could help _more._ But she sighs, one hand rubbing running absently over the swell of her belly, the other pulling Callum’s cloak tighter around her shoulders against the bitter wind.

“Hear that, little one?” she mumbles. “Dad misses us. We miss him too, don’t we?”

The baby wriggles within her - not an answer in anyway, but it’s comforting, nonetheless. Her womb isn’t so tender anymore, but sometimes it kicks a little too hard or squishes too much into her other organs that it’s uncomfortable. It’s a good thing, Rowena tells her. It’s a sign that bub’s growing happily despite what those assassins had tried to do, and when it comes down to it, Rayla prefers this.

As impatient as she is - as frustrated as she gets - as _mad_ as being here makes her - her little Moonbeam comes first, and she’d rather be stuck here than put it in any more danger.

She wipes the mirror clean; makes an attempt at drawing Callum - it’s a stick figure with a scarf, but it’s the effort that counts - and writes him back:

_Just be safe. We miss you too._

“Any news?”

Rayla looks up. She fumbles with the mirror - tries to jam it into her pocket like it might reveal _more_ weakness - but it’s only Soren, his head tilted curiously at her with two rabbits slung over his shoulders.

She shrugs at him and draws her knees to her as far as the bump will let her. “Not anything new,” she says with a sigh. “Although there’s tension in the other kingdoms now as well. Ez is calling a summit on it so… there’s that, I guess.” She purses her lips, turning the mirror over in her hands as Soren takes a seat on the stair in front of her.

His recovery’s come a long way. He’s not exactly capable of hunting rabbits himself, and the charm on his belt is in no way a permanent solution, but at least he doesn’t need his cane much anymore. He carries it with him most days, just in case, but lately he’s been going out on patrol with just Ailas’ sunforge blade. It’s about the same size as his cane, and Rayla’s not sure Ailas would be pleased that he’s using it in its sheath as a back-up walking stick, but she supposes it’s better than having to carry them both.

He sets the blade against the stair next to him and lounges back against the railing, the rabbits resting limp in his lap. “This guy really wants to screw you over, huh?” he says mildly.

If it were anyone else, Rayla thinks she might have been annoyed with the bluntness of it, but she only snorts. Soren’s sense of humour is strangely soothing - his inability to take anything seriously sort of highlights how truly _stupid_ the situation is, and it eases the tension in Rayla’s shoulders somewhat and brings a smirk to her lips.

“If by ‘screw me over’ you mean, ‘destroy everything we’ve ever worked for’, then yes,” she says drily. She unhooks the dagger at her waist and hands it to him hilt first. “That would be an apt assessment.”

He smirks back. “Poor Princess Rayla,” he drawls, unsheathing the dagger to start removing the first rabbit’s fur. “Shipped away like a helpless damsel, waiting for her handsome Prince Callum to do all the work for her.”

Rayla bristles, but her immediate response is snappier. “You think Callum’s handsome now, do you?”

“ _You_ do,” snorts Soren. “ _Why_ , no one will ever know. He’s still a scrawny little nerd who’s never beaten me in a fight.”

“It’s unbecoming to pick a fight with a cripple.”

Soren barks out a laugh at that. He doesn’t argue any further - it’s true, after all - even with his charm and Ailas’ sunforge blade, it’s not like he could do much damage to _Callum_ , a fully fledged archmage who’s not so bad with a sword anymore - Rayla had made sure of that. He sets the first rabbit down and starts on the second, brown fur collecting in the dry foliage at his feet.

There’s silence for a while. Soren works with his tongue between is teeth, and Rayla turns back to the mirror as it lights up in her hands and Callum’s handwriting appears across the glass.

_How’s our little Moonbeam?_

_Fine_ , she replies, chuckling a little at the way he pointedly doesn’t erase her little stick-figure of him. _A little squirmy today. I think it’s as impatient to be out in the world as me._

 _Not yet, little one,_ comes Callum’s reply, a little frowny face drawn at the end of the sentence. _It’s still too early, and there’s no way I’m missing the birth of my first child._

 _Better catch the guy quick then,_ writes Rayla, her smile falling at the reminder of how _weak_ she’s become.

Soren must catch it. A sort of… _understanding_ flashes in his eyes, but he waits until Rayla puts the mirror away before he says anything about it. “I totally get it, by the way,” he says quietly, finishing his work on the second rabbit. “Not being able to help when it feels like you should be, I mean. It’s… frustrating.”

Rayla raises an eyebrow at him. “Is this supposed to be some sort pow-wow?”

He gives her a look. “You can’t be strong all the time, you know.”

For a second, Rayla doesn’t even know how to respond. She stares, a little bewildered that this talk is coming from _Soren_ , of all people, but the more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense for it to be. He knows how it feels to be helpless out of the blue. He knows how frustrating it is to watch everyone else do _your_ work for you. If there’s anyone at all who can understand how much she _hates_ being stuck here when she should be in the city with Callum, it’s him.

“This is different,” she mutters at last.

“Is it?”

“ _Yes,_ ” says Rayla sharply. “I’m not stuck out here because I can’t protect myself. I’m here because I need to protect the _baby_.”

“And because you can’t protect yourself.” Soren smirks at her, even as a scowl fixes itself onto her lips. “You _can’t_ be strong all the time, but accepting your limits doesn’t make you _weak_ either.”

“That literally doesn’t make any sense.”

Soren snorts at her. “I thought you’d be the smart one between the two of us,” he drawls.

“ _Excuse you?”_

He heaves a sigh, long and patient, like he’s trying to explain something to a child. It makes Rayla want hit him, honestly, but the words that come out of his mouth are hardly words she’d ever thought she’d hear from him.

“It’s not about _strength_ , Rayla,” he tells her. “If this guy wants you dead, then you need to play _smarter_ than this, and knowing when to pull out of a fight because you can accept your limits isn’t _weak._ It’s _smart._ You can trust me on that. _I_ would know.” He sheathes the dagger and holds it back out to her, rolling his eyes as if he can’t believe _he_ had to be the one to tell her something so stupidly obvious. He gets up when she takes it, dusts the remaining rabbit fur off his armour, and unlatches his cape. “Don’t stay out here too long,” he says, dropping it over her shoulders. “The cold’s not so good for the baby.”

He steps back into the lodge without another word, his footsteps heavy against the wood, and Rayla lets out a sigh, her breath unfurling in front of her like fog.

He’s right, of course, and it irks her.

“You know things are dire when _Soren’s_ making sense,” she mutters to her belly.

The baby shifts.

 

x

 

It’s the worst two months of Callum’s life.

Tensions have only grown worse since Ez told their people of what happened the night of the attack, because where elves had been tolerating the injustice before, _now_ they’re fighting back. The arguments in the streets are getting violent; shops have been broken into and merchants - both elven and human - have been attacked on their way in and out of the city; there’s suspicion between Ez’s own soldiers because no one knows who to trust -

And still, they have no leads on who paid assassins to try and kill Rayla in the night.

Aunt Amaya had said to be patient, but every day that passes without new developments frustrates Callum more. Every guard’s been interrogated and interviewed, and he’s tried using magic, even, to replay the events of the night - but there’s nothing. Not a hint or even a whisper of who to blame.

At the very least, he knows Rayla and the baby are safe. He keeps Claudia’s mirror on him at all times and writes into it whenever he can. He _misses_ her - this is the longest they’ve ever been apart and he thinks, maybe, this situation wouldn’t feel so bad if he at least had _her_ to help him get through it. Nothing ever feels as difficult when he’s with her, and more than anything, he wishes he could take a break from all of this - to clear his head and to be with her, just for a few days -

But he doesn’t do that. Seeing her at a time like this will put her in danger, and, even more - Ez needs him _here._ Ez needs him now more than ever, because this is absolutely _not_ what they intended when they opened the border to Xadia, and when Callum married Rayla in the first place. Katolis was supposed to be a haven - a beacon of peace and friendship between elves and humans, and sure, they weren’t expecting it to be easy, but they weren’t expecting _this_ either.

It makes him mad. Not even because it’s ruining all the work they’ve done these past four years, but because sowing civil unrest in a time of peace takes effort - far more, at this point, than just enjoying it. How much does someone have to hate elves to pull this kind of thing? How terrible a person does someone have to be to want _this_?

There are anti-elf sentiments in the other Kingdoms now, and that angers Callum more because he knows those sentiments came from _here._ Letters from the other monarchs have arrived, growing more and more anxious about the civil unrest in their lands, but it’s not until Aanya expresses her concern that Ezran calls for a summit.

They have a pretty large population of elves there too - Duren’s common border with Xadia is by far the largest, and after Ezran opened up theirs, it only made sense to Aanya to follow suit. Duren’s had a better go of it so far, but the more elves (rightfully) retaliate against humans (being hostile), the more other humans are starting to worry.

Callum gets it. Really he does. He understands why the elves that have made Katolis their home are starting to fight back; understands why the humans here - and elsewhere throughout the Pentarchy - are tense and anxious - but it’s _not helping_ , and there are only so many peaceful measures they, as monarchs, can do.

They arrive at the Confluence of Kings early. It’s a day’s ride from the capitol, and Rayla’s absence is glaring - at least to him. It seems wrong to be discussing elf-human relations without an elven representative present, but beggars can’t really be choosers at this point, and they’ll just have to make do.

Ez climbs a little clumsily off his horse looking haggard and exhausted, his lips pulled into the semi-permanent frown that’s taken up residence on his face. The only other person here so far is the newly minted King Kasef and his advisor - the same one that served his father before his retirement, Callum thinks.

“King Ezran,” greets Kasef crisply. He looks irritable - like he’d rather not be here at all, and as if his advisor had forced him to come. “How good to make your acquaintance at last.”

“The same to you,” says Ez, bowing his head. “How are things in Neolandia?”

“Better than in Katolis,” says Kasef importantly. Proudly. Like it’s an accomplishment to have kept the peace in Neolandia when Neolandia barely has a population of elves to begin with. He turns to Callum. “My belated congratulations to you and your… _wife_ ,” he adds, his voice snide. “How far along is she now?”

Callum shifts his shoulders, his patience with Kasef _already_ wearing thin. “Thirty weeks,” he answers, squashing the pang of guilt in his gut. _Gods,_ he misses Rayla. “I’ve been told that things are going well despite the - um -” He clears his throat. “Earlier complications.”

“I didn’t think humans and elves could have children together.” Kasef wrinkles his nose. “Is it much different from lying with a human?”

Ez holds his arm up, catching Callum in the chest before he even registers the way he’d started forwards, his fists balled at his sides, Rayla’s blades heavy in their sheaths at his back. “With all due respect, King Kasef, _Her Highness,”_ says Ez sharply, a not-so-gentle reminder to Kasef that Rayla is every bit as royal as him now, “wouldn’t approve of this discussion. In any case, I’m not sure how you would know what lying with anyone feels like to begin with.” He sneers at him. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

He steers Callum away, his fingers firm against his elbow. “Breathe,” he murmurs. “Kasef’s an idiot. He always has been.”

“It’s fine,” snaps Callum. His temper’s been shorter these days (honestly, who can blame him?) but Ez is right. Kasef’s never been particularly well behaved - not even when his father was King, and Callum can think of more than one visit to Neolandia that had taken more patience than he and Rayla had combined. He sucks in a breath, his fingers finding their way the mirror in his pocket.

Rayla’s little stick figure of him is still in the glass, but there’s a new message today - it must have appeared while they were riding in:

_Hope the summit’s not too dry. Ten silver says Kasef can’t go the whole day without saying something stupid. Give Aanya our best._

He snorts loudly and holds the mirror up to Ez. “Guess I owe her ten silver.”

It’s an otherwise quiet wait after that. Queen Fareeda of Evenere arrives next, brilliant red hair shining in the sun; then King Florian of Del Bar and his daughter, Livana, in the place of his advisor; and then at last, Queen Aanya herself, perhaps the only other monarch present who looks as tired as Ezran.

“My apologies for being so late,” she says, her tone clipped and short, impatient and eager to get on with this meeting in the same way Ez is. Her people are having issues too, after all. Her eyes are hard, and her smile is unfriendly - particularly to Kasef - but it softens a little when she catches Ez and Callum’s eye.

She takes her seat in front of the emblem of Duren. “Let’s not waste any time, shall we? Let’s begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda feeling like this is a mess but also so is my roster so y'all can blame that if this sucks. Feel like it's time for a breather anyway, and we need to sort of establish what's been going on during this two month time skip. Plot will pick up again next chapter, I promise!
> 
> BUT also a biiiig shout out to @ArtToAnimation over on the Rayllum Discord server - I dunno if you ever got my response but your art was beautiful and I may have cried a little!!
> 
> Also shout out to Tumblr user @theconfusercarp for letting me rant about a specific plot point that may or may not make it into this fic - you know the one ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What dagger?”

xvi.

  


In the four years since the war ended, a Summit’s only ever been called three times.

The first was immediately afterwards. Xadia and the Pentarchy had been at odds with each other for so long that no one had really known how to proceed in an era of peace. To Ez, it had been obvious - remove their troops from their strongholds at the Breach as a show of goodwill, and arrange a number of treaties and agreements to foster friendship between their two halves of the continent. It’d been unheard of, then, to have other people present at a meeting of monarchs, but Ez had insisted, so Callum and Rayla were there - who better than to propose the idea of friendship than the two people who ended the war together to begin with?

At the time, the other monarchs were hesitant. Even Aanya seemed dubious about removing her troops from her own borders with Xadia, and Rayla’s very presence in the room had put the other Kings and Queens of the Pentarchy on edge - but they had to start somewhere, so even with their resistance, Ez had gone ahead and done it anyway.

For a while, nothing had happened.

Aunt Amaya’s troops stood down and came home, but no elves came with them. Understandable, Ez had thought - it was always going to take time before both peoples got used to the fact that the war was _over_ and that friendship was _possible_ \- Callum and Rayla were living, breathing proof of it - but it would take time, nonetheless.

Then they started travelling together as ambassadors and things became easier.

Humans crossed the border in a bid to learn magic.

Elves crossed it, curious about human invention.

Things went well enough, all things considered. There was still resistance, sure, but that was always to be expected, and Ez is honestly surprised that they hadn’t run into more.

The second time a Summit was called, it was just to assess their progress as a whole. Katolis was thriving at the time. People were still distrustful of elves, but there was no denying the fact that magic had made things easier. People were sick less, and when they were, they got better quicker. Infrastructure improved because of the combination of human ingenuity and magical reinforcement. Knowledge was shared between both sets of Common Folk and the future of Ez’s people became brighter in every possible way.

It was the same in Duren - Aanya had opened up her borders about a year after Ez had; had watched her neighbour’s growing friendship with Xadia and had decided Duren might benefit from it too. Florian, and Ahling, and Fareeda were still hesitant, but at the very least, Rayla’s presence at that second meeting wasn’t met with the same hostility as the first.

To be fair, she and Callum had done a fair bit of travelling by then. They were acquainted enough with the other monarchs that it was less strange to have an elf in the room, and while elves and humans still disagreed with (read: screamed at) each other at negotiations and treaty signings, things were _better_ . It wasn’t, by any means, smooth sailing but the progress was _there_. His people were healthy, and for the most part happy, their economy and their granary unfazed by the growing population.

Things were well and truly _good_ and the concept of peace and friendship came closer and closer to becoming reality.

Then this happened.

Arguments in the streets led to bricks being thrown through windows led to fires being lit and properties broken into, and one failed assassination attempt had people back at each other’s throats. It’d be fine, Ez thinks, if it was just Katolis, but the problem is that it’s not - ideas have spread too far, and even the elven population in Duren is at odds now with Aanya’s people; Florian is considering closing his borders entirely, and Fareeda and Kasef, whose lands don’t have much of an eleven population to begin with don’t want to open their borders at all.

“It was always going to come to this,” snorts Kasef, slumping lazily in his seat. “What did you think was going to happen? That everyone would just bury their differences overnight?”

“They _did,_ ” sneers Ezran. “Not overnight, maybe, but one in three women don’t die in childbirth anymore - at least not in Katolis. Things were going _fine._ ”

“And yet, here we are.” Kasef shakes his head. “Maybe you had my father considering it, but frankly, I don’t see why Neolandia should bother.”

“No one’s forcing you to open your borders,” says Aanya crisply. “But your hostility isn’t helping. Things _were_ better. There was proof of it in Duren as well. But we need to handle this as a whole or we risk starting another war.”

“With whom? Ourselves?” Kasef actually laughs. “How do you know this wasn’t their plan in the first place? What if Xadia _wants_ us to fight between ourselves until they can pick us off one by one?”

Ezran scowls at him, the King in his demeanour faltering for just a moment. “Are you actually being serious?”

“He has a point, King Ezran,” says Fareeda quietly. “Fighting on our side of the continent makes us weaker, and if tensions were ever to escalate with Xadia again, we’d be weak to attack.”

“ _What attack?”_ demands Ezran. “There’s _peace_ between us right now, there’s no reason to suspect _anything_ like that. The only thing that sort of thinking does is spread distrust _which is the problem_.”

On Duren’s side of the chamber, Aanya purses her lips. “With all due respect, King Ezran,” she says. “It would be naive not to have some sort of contingency plan for if something like that _does happen_ -”

“Not you too.”

“ _But_ -” she adds sharply. “I believe you’re right. The problem is the fact that our people don’t trust each other anymore, and that has to be addressed before anything else. Turning elves away won’t fix the problem, and closing borders to them will make it worse.”

Kasef groans. Fareeda and Florian glance at him, stern and disapproving of his behaviour, but they don’t object. If anything, they look just as concerned as he does - just less childish. “What, exactly, are you proposing _we_ do? Duren and Katolis have this problem, not us. As far as Neolandia’s concerned, it’s _safer_ for us to keep our borders closed to elves.”

“That’s exactly the sort of thinking that perpetuates the problem,” says Aanya. She rolls her eyes and lets out a patient sigh, but when she looks up again, she looks at Callum. “What we lack is perspective. How is Xadia responding to this, Prince Callum?”

Callum blinks at her. “Um.” He clears his throat, his mind obviously elsewhere, his hand in his pocket, probably holding the message mirror within it tight within his fingers. “They’re… concerned,” he says after a moment. “The elves in Ahlon share your sentiments, King Kasef. It’s made our job difficult, in all honesty, but I believe continuing that behaviour will only be problematic for both sides of the border.”

“I agree,” says Ez. “This needs to be controlled, and continued hostility from us as _rulers_ is the opposite of that.”

“It needs to be controlled _peacefully_ ,” corrects Aanya. “At most, we should be maintaining the granaries and treasuries. Show that there’s plenty to go around and our economies aren’t in danger. Beyond that, the only thing I believe we _should_ do is prevent violence.”

“That’s barely anything,” says Ez, frowning. “Surely there’s more we can do to discourage those ideas.”

The severity in Aanya’s eyes slips. “You can’t tell them what to think, Ez,” she says. “When it comes down to it, humans are your people before elves are, and you can’t turn against them in a bid for peace no matter how wrong they are.” She glances at the other monarchs - blinks at them like she’s only just remembered they’re still in the room - and sighs. “This as good a time to have a break as any. I move to adjourn this meeting for the time being. We can continue this afternoon.”

 

x

 

“In hindsight, we probably didn’t need a full Summit.”

Ez glances up. He’s sitting on the steps of the Confluence of Kings, away from the other monarchs - away from Callum, even, who’s sequestered himself into a corner with Claudia’s message mirror and pining over Rayla. It’s not such an odd thing for him; they’ve never really been apart for this long, and given the circumstances, Ez gets it. He should be there with her, or at the very least, she should be here with him, and they came so close to losing their unborn child that it’s kind of understandable that he spends his every waking moment fussing over her in the very limited way that he can.

He snorts and shuffles over a bit to let Aanya sit down.

She does, her knees together and her ankles crossed, her fingers settling primly in her lap with the grace and finesse no fourteen year old should even have the right to have. It’s a subtle reminder to Ez that she’s been doing this far longer than he has, and that she’s probably wiser and better at it in every way. “How’s your brother?”

Ez snorts a second time and jerks his head at Callum, still hunched over in the corner, probably doodling into the glass. “He’s losing his mind over how much he misses his wife, but you know. What can you do?”

Aanya lets out a laugh - a tinkling, bell-like sound that reminds him of the chimes in the Hall of Ceremonies. “How’s Her Highness, then?”

“You can just call her Rayla, you know.”

“That would be impolite.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Seriously. How is she?”

“Bored, probably,” chuckles Ez. He glances at Callum again and shrugs. “But otherwise, doing really well considering…” He trails off uncertainly. Rayla’s a sister to him in all but blood now, and what happened that night isn’t a particularly pleasant memory. He clears his throat. “I just want them to have their baby in peace. All they’ve done since the end of the war is work, and just when we thought things were finally working out… all _this_ happened.”

“We made it work last time,” says Aanya, nudging his elbow lightly. “We can make it work again. It just - you know - takes time.”

“Kinda needs people like Kasef to get their heads out of the sand too, just saying.”

“Bet you he literally doesn’t even know what that expression means.”

 _That_ makes Ez laugh, his frustration fading little by little. Duren’s always been Katolis’ closest ally, both because they’re the buffer between Xadia and the rest of the Pentarchy, and because they have a long history of helping the other out. It’s no different today, and it certainly helps that Aanya knows what it’s like to be so young and thrust into a role with so much responsibility and power. It’s probably why they get along so well - she’s level-headed but marginally less open to change, and Ez is open to change, but marginally less level headed. It’s a delicate balance of sorts  - he’s learned a lot from her over the years he’s been ruling, and she from him, and he’s glad that he can call her his friend beyond the formalities of ruling their respective kingdoms.

“We probably _didn’t_ need a full Summit,” he agrees at last. “But things are changing whether Kasef and the others are ready for it or not. They need to be involved in things like this.”

“That’s probably true,” says Aanya mildly. She takes in a breath, and when it comes out again, it does so with a sigh. “They’re within their rights to keep their borders closed. You know that, don’t you? Even if they are _wrong_ , if King Kasef and Queen Fareeda don’t want to open their borders to elves, and if King Florian wants to close his, that’s _their_ prerogative.”

Ez scowls a little, but he knows she’s right. She usually is about this sort of thing. “It’s just dumb,” he mutters. “How’s _anyone_ supposed to foster peace if leaders of entire kingdoms think like this?”

“It’s only been four years, Ez,” says Aanya gently. “They need _time_ to adjust. And, you know, maybe once King Florian retires, Princess Livana will be easier to convince, but the point is you can’t _force_ anyone to accept your ideas, even if they’re _good_ ideas. That’s just the way of politics.”

“Hm.” Ez’s lips twitch a little. “You’ve grown wise, Your Majesty,” he jokes.

“Bold of you to assume I once wasn’t,” snorts Aanya. “Enough of this. We can discuss it until our ears bleed this afternoon. I’m going to go and talk to your brother. Care to join me?”

Ez pauses - turns his head just a little to catch Callum, _still_ in the corner, _still_ hunched over the mirror, _still_ fussing over Rayla. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Might do him some good to talk to someone face to face.”

 

x

 

“Callum.”

_So was I right? How long did Kasef go without saying something dumb?_

_Not even a whole minute_ , writes Callum with a snort. _It’s been two hours and I probably owe you fifty silver already._

“ _Hey. Callum_.”

Callum starts. He deactivates the mirror - shoves it into his pocket and straightens, a poor attempt to look a bit more like the prince he’s supposed to be, but an attempt nonetheless - but it’s only Ez and Queen Aanya looking various shades of amused. “Your Majesties,” he greets, more to Aanya than to Ez. He offers them both a bow. “What I can do for you both?”

“There’s no need for that among friends,” says Aanya with a smile. “I just wanted to say hello. Ez tells me Her Highness is doing well.”

“She is,” says Callum, his hand going to his pocket once more like the mirror is a physical reminder of it. He looks between them curiously, wondering how long Aanya’s been familiar enough with his brother to call him ‘Ez’ when she’s always been the epitome of formality. He shakes it off in favour of the conversation at hand. “She says hello, by the way, and that she’s sorry she couldn't say so in person.”

“She doesn’t have to apologise,” chuckles Aanya. “I always liked her. She has the best sense of humour. Say hello from me as well, won’t you? Tell her that I expect you both to be in Duren sometime soon - I don’t imagine I’ll get much of a chance to meet your -” She pauses and glances at Ezran. “Little Moonbeam?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, grinning at his shoes.

“I don’t imagine I’ll get much of a chance to meet your little Moonbeam otherwise.”

“You could tell her yourself,” says Callum. He offers her the mirror, feeling the corners of his lips tilt upwards. “She’d probably appreciate hearing from someone else.”

“Oh?”

“You just have to write into it,” Ez tells her, activating it for her. “Rayla’s got the other one. She’ll see whatever you say.”

“Don’t mind if I do then.” Aanya grins, and Callum catches his brother’s eye over her shoulder and quirks an eyebrow.

Ez just shrugs at him, peering over her shoulder and smirking at whatever Rayla writes that makes her laugh.

It’s nice, Callum thinks, to be able to act like Rayla’s pregnancy is just a normal pregnancy - like she’s just at her uncles’, or at the castle, because she’s grown too big to travel, and not because she’s gone into hiding just to stay safe. It’s a pleasant change from the weeks of worry and anger and fear that’s had him pacing corridors and chasing down leads in the capitol. Which - unfortunate as it is - reminds him that he owes Aanya a debt of gratitude. “Thank you, by the way,” he says after a moment. “For the gift you sent us. That dagger saved her life that night. I don’t know where we’d be without it.”

Aanya’s smile falters as she passes the mirror back to him, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “What dagger?”

Callum blinks. “The one you sent us after Ez first announced -” He blanches. “You didn’t send it?”

The flicker of confusion turns into a frown and Aanya shakes her head. “I sent you a little bow and arrow. I thought Her Highness might appreciate it but - I don’t know anything about a dagger.”

“But then who -” Callum swallows, the obvious conclusion _there_ and _tangible_ but he thinks his brain might have stopped working altogether. His mouth goes dry. His stomach drops through the floor. He thumbs the edge of the mirror and finds Aanya’s last message hasn’t been erased yet, and _Moon and Stars_ , that can’t mean -

“Oh my gods.” The conclusion dawns on Ez’s face faster than it does on Callum’s, his face paling even in spite of the darkness of his skin. “You have to go,” he tells Callum. “Hurry.”

Callum doesn’t even nod. “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” he says to Aanya hoarsely, and then he’s off. He practically leaps off the steps of the Confluence of Kings, wiping the mirror clean as he goes and writing in clumsy, hurried letters -

_The dagger’s not from Aanya! Get rid of it!_

_Please let her get it_ , he thinks as he sprints down the path and back to Kuritsa, who’s waiting by the guards at the bottom of the hill. _Please don’t be too late._

Rayla doesn’t answer.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to kill me? Give it your best shot.”

xvii.

  
  


Today begins as quietly as all the others. Rayla wakes to dappled sunlight on her face and to the chill of autumn in the air; Rowena assesses her and the baby’s growth, making note of it in her little book; Claudia bakes and practises Moon magic by the river; and Soren goes on patrol in the late morning to make sure their position hasn’t been given away. Rayla’s grown pretty used to the routine of it, but she’s bored out of her mind, and reminding herself that boredom and safety are synonymous with each other is getting old. The only new thing is the occasional spasm in her belly.

Rowena says that it’s normal - that it’s her body’s way of getting ready to deliver the baby - but it only reminds Rayla of how close things are getting. It’s not unheard of for babies to arrive as soon as one month early - particularly elf-human babies - and it makes her nervous, because it’s been _two months_ since she went into hiding and Callum _still_ hasn’t found any reliable leads on who tried to kill her.

She doesn’t blame him at all. He’s been busy. He’s at the Confluence of Kings today with Ez to discuss the rising tensions between elves and humans on this side of the border and he’s probably having a worse time than her, judging by the messages he’s been sending - she’s just tired of hiding, and she misses him, and he’s determined not to miss the birth of his child, which doesn’t really want to have to do until there’s a guarantee that it’s safe. Frankly, there’s nothing worse than the idea of having to go into labour knowing how vulnerable she’ll be while there’s someone overtly trying to kill her and her baby, no matter how well hidden they are.

The late morning finds her on the front steps again, mirror in hand, Callum’s cloak over her shoulders, heavy blanket over her knees. Soren’s still out, but the smell of fresh bread wafts out through the kitchen window and makes her stomach grumble beneath the movements of the child in her belly. Claudia’s always been a pretty good cook, and the little Moonbeam has loved _every_ _second_ of being stuck out here if only because Claudia’s happy to oblige even the weirdest of cravings, and Rayla considers, for a moment, heading inside for some lunch when the mirror lights up with Callum’s handwriting.

They must be on a break, she thinks as she reads over his scrawl, practically hearing his frustrated whine in the words on the glass. She responds with a joke - _So was I right? How long did Kasef go without saying something dumb?_ \- hoping it might settle his nerves a little, and lets out a giggle when he responds in kind.

_Not even a whole minute. It’s been two hours and I probably owe you fifty silver already._

_That’s not surprising,_ writes Rayla, pleased. She might not be able to do much, but making sure Callum keeps his head on straight during meetings like this must count for something. There’s no response for a moment - Rayla figures he might be caught up in conversation with someone else, and she turns the mirror over in her hands patiently while she waits - but when it does light up again, the letters are finer, and loopier, and unmistakably in Queen Aanya’s hand.

 _Hello Princess!_ her writing reads. _I’m sorry things have turned out like this - I’d hoped to see you at the Summit - but I hope everything’s going well wherever you are. Come and visit Duren soon! I’m so excited to meet your little Moonbeam! All the best, Aanya._

“Isn’t she sweet?” laughs Rayla, more to the baby than to anyone else. It’s refreshing to hear from someone else for a change, and, in spite of the circumstances, she grins. “It’s no wonder she and your uncle Ez get along so well, hey?” To Aanya, she writes: _Hello Your Majesty! I apologise for not being able to liven things up over there myself - you’ll have to make do with my poor husband, I’m afraid, even if he isn’t quite as funny as me._

The mirror wipes clean after a moment.

_Your ‘poor husband’ just misses you. You’re so lucky to have him. He loves you very much._

Rayla chuckles at that because she knows it’s true. She _is_ lucky to have him, and she knows how much he loves her because he’d spent every day since he first told her making sure she’d never forget. She raises a hand to clear the glass again, but she pauses, hand stilling in the air, response forgotten, when she spots Soren hobbling out of the wood, out of breath and stumbling over his own feet.

Rayla frowns. She pockets the mirror; untangles her knees from the blanket and waddles down the steps to catch him as his knees begin to shake. “What happened?” she demands, putting his arm over her shoulder to catch his weight. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Soren swallows, his feet dragging a little as she helps him up the steps and into the lodge. “We have to go,” he manages. “There are people camped nearby. They know you’re here.”

 

x

 

“What do you mean ‘ _they know she’s here’_ ? How could anyone _possibly_ know she’s here?”

“Does it matter _how_? They know and they’re planning to attack at nightfall! We have to move!”

“ _Where?_ Even if we started moving _now_ , we wouldn’t get very far!”

The yelling is giving Rayla a headache, and the way the baby shifts and wriggles in her belly isn’t helping. She’s pacing in the kitchen while Claudia and Soren argue over each other over the counter because they’re both right - she and Soren are in no shape to defend themselves, but they’re in no shape to travel either, and even if they were,  _where_ would they go? The nearest town is a day’s ride along the riverbank - more, because it’s too risky for Rayla to ride any faster than a brisk walk - they won’t get far before whoever’s coming realizes they’re not here and tracks them down anyway -  but staying here isn’t an option either. Soren has _one_ vial of Potenserum that might give him the strength he used to have, but it’s aftereffects will leave them even _more_ vulnerable, and it’s not like they can _stay_ at the Banther Lodge once their cover’s been blown.

They’re screwed either way, Rayla thinks. Callum’s the only one they can contact so immediately but he’s two days away on horseback, and even if there was some way they could contact _anyone else_ , there’s no way they would get here _in time._

Over by the far wall, Rowena swallows. She looks between Rayla and Soren and Claudia, wanting to help but unsure how; wanting to share an opinion but doubtful of how valuable it might be when their options are so clear cut.

Rayla scowls. They’re wasting time like this. They have to decide on a course of action _now._

She takes a breath. Forces herself to slow the racing of her thoughts and of her heart and take it one step at a time. She reaches into her pocket for the mirror as a comfort, but when she pulls it out, Aanya’s writing is gone and Callum’s is back again with two hastily scribbled sentences she has to squint at to read:

_The dagger’s not from Aanya! Get rid of it!_

Rayla’s breath hitches in her throat. Her eyes drift to the dagger, sitting heavy and ominous on her hip. She tugs it off her belt; unsheathes it to study the blade and the hilt and the inside of the sheath, and -

 _There._ There’s a dim glow in it - barely perceptible at all, but it’s _there_. She swallows, flips the dagger in her had and uses the blade to tear through the leather, peeling it apart one broken seam at a time until it falls open and useless in her hands. There’s a rune in the lining, purple and glowing, something so obviously imbued with dark magic that Rayla almost drops it in disgust.

“ _Shut up,”_ she snaps at last, rounding on Soren and Claudia. She tosses the broken sheath on to the counter between them and slams the end of the dagger into the wood. “What the _hell_ is _that_ supposed to be?”

Claudia falters, recognition crossing her face before she steps back entirely, almost afraid to be too near to it. “That’s - that’s a tracking rune,” she says quietly. “That’s - I don’t understand - Ez made dark magic illegal, how could anyone -?”

“The attempted assassination of the Princess of Katolis is considered illegal too,” snorts Soren. “Somehow I don’t think they have any problems with _illegality._ Can you break it?”

Claudia hesitates. Something like fear crosses her face, but she picks up the broken sheath anyway with shaking fingers. She brings it to eye level; examines the way it glows and how it’s been pressed into the leather before, at last, she nods. “I can cloak it,” she murmurs. “Or we can destroy it. It’s - it’s a simple spell, I think - it just shows its location on a map the original enchanter has - but it’s not something I can just - you know - _break_ \- at least, not without dark magic.” She shudders and sets it down again. “But I can cloak it.”

“What are you waiting for, then?” snaps Soren. “Do it!”

“There’s no point,” says Rayla sharply, because there’s not. Whoever it is who wants her dead is already here and - if what Soren overheard is true - they’ll attack at nightfall whether they’re ready for them or not but -

Her mind is racing again. _Why now_ ? she wonders. They’ve been here two months and she’s had the dagger the whole time. Before then, Callum had had it, and there were plenty of opportunities to attack while they were on the road. Why not before? Why _now?_

“Pack up,” she says shortly. “Get the horses ready. We’re leaving.”

“But - Your Highness -”

That’s Rowena. She looks scared, and her eyes flit to Rayla’s belly briefly - a reminder that any jerky movements - like that of a galloping horse - will put the baby at more risk than it already is.

Rayla offers her a grim smile. “We don’t have a choice, Rowie,” she says quietly. “What we need is more _time._ I can buy us some, I think. But we -”

“ _Whoa_ ,” interrupts Claudia. “What do you mean _you_ can buy us some? What, exactly, are you intending to do?”

Rayla hesitates. Her heart is hammering away in her chest, but what choice do they have? They can’t fight, and they can’t run, but they have to do _something_ \- they just have to be clever about it. She catches Soren’s eye and feels her lips quirk into a smirk - a nervous one, but a smirk nonetheless.

“I’m playing smart.”

 

x

 

Nightfall doesn’t come soon enough for Balan and his men, but it comes all the same, and his fingers are almost twitching with glee. He’s been plotting and waiting and sitting on his hands on this for more than a year now, and victory has never felt so _close_.

In some ways, he feels like he’s already won - it’s been so _good_ to watch the Prince and his whore of a Princess scrambling for purchase as the world they built crumbles before their eyes, but this - _this_ is truly is the icing on the cake. To be able to _personally_ exact his revenge on the elf - to have her _know_ it was him, the whole time, as civil war erupts around them and as she loses _everything_ at his feet.

He breathes in the night air - lets it fill his lungs and invigorate him before he turns to his men. There are twenty of them tonight - some of them his closest followers from their days at the castle, _before_ Ezran foolishly dismissed them all without so much as a trial. He’d been right to, Balan supposes - they would have turned on him the moment Balan gave them the order, and maybe Katolis would be in worse shape if he hadn’t -

But they’re just as mad as he is, and they’re more than ready for bloodshed tonight.

He whistles; has them douse their torches and soften their footsteps, swords at the ready as they creep through the wood and towards the lodge. His informants at the castle had told him no guards had been assigned to missions regarding the protection of their supposed Princess, and he’d gone to the trouble of waiting for the new moon, so he knows defense here will be minimal tonight, but still - he’s not dumb enough to believe the Prince would have sent her away without some sort of guard, magical or not.

But when the lodge comes into view, his men falter - not because there _is_ a guard, but because there isn’t one at all.

The grounds are empty. The windows of the lodge are dark and there’s nothing - no smoke from the chimney stack; no tracks, and no horses - just a single figure waiting for them on the steps, one knee crossed over the other, his dagger between her fingers.

The elf.

Balan halts his men, a smirk playing on his lips as he steps towards her and draws his sword. “Good evening, Princess,” he drawls. “How lovely to see you.”

The elf snorts, an almost-smirk gracing her features. “General Balan,” she greets without getting up. “Of _course_. I should have known better.”

“You should have,” sneers Balan, stepping closer. “You and your Prince never should have crossed me.”

“Technically, he’s _your_ Prince,” she says. “He’s my husband, but I’m only a citizen of Katolis by marriage, so he was never really _my_ Prince. Get it?” She rolls her eyes at him, amused, and something like fury flares in Balan’s gut. How dare she taunt him under such circumstances? Who does she think she is?  

He draws himself up to his full height, puffs out his chest, and pauses in front of her, sword raised and pointed at her breast. “Interesting time to be smug, _elf_ ,” he says. “You do know why I’m here, don’t you?”

“To kill a defenseless pregnant woman, yes,” says the elf, easing the tip of his sword away from her with the dagger in her hands. She gets up, wincing a little, her free hand bracing her belly. “The funny thing is that I’m not defenseless,” she tells him. “You made sure of that, didn’t you? This is _yours_ after all.” She flips the dagger and holds it defensively across her belly, her shoulders hunched and ready to fight. “You want to kill me? Give it your best shot.”

Balan scowls at her and swings his sword.

She dodges it easily, swiping at him with her dagger and careful not to let him get too close. She parries his blows one handed, the other braced under her bump as she dodges under his arm and catches his sword against her own. She pushes back with a grunt, and Balan stumbles a little, impressed.

“You move quickly for a pregnant elf who almost lost her child,” he snarls.

“It’s stubborn,” she snaps. “Reminds me a little bit of me.”

Balan snorts and rounds on his men. “Well?” he says. “Charge!”

The elf blanches, but his men advance anyway, not at all hesitant about attacking someone in her condition, especially now that she’s shown she’s hardly ‘ _defenseless’_ . She turns on her heel and runs - Balan almost _laughs_ \- into the confines of the Banther Lodge, like it’s safer for her in _there_ where there’s less room to move.

“Stupid girl,” he snorts, following his men in after her. “You had a better chance of surviving this out -” He cuts himself off, frowning as he crosses into the threshold. The lodge is quiet, and there’s no sign of her in the entrance hall. His men look just as confused as he feels, but he shakes his head. She’s a Moonshadow elf, after all - sneaking around is her forte. “Fan out,” he commands. “Find her and bring her to me.”

His men nod, filling the entrance hall and barging into rooms to search them, but it’s not until Balan’s alone again that he spots her hiding behind the wall at the top of the stairs. He snorts at her. “Running away like a coward,” he goads. “I thought more of you.”

“Mm, yeah,” taunts the elf. “Nothing says ‘brave’ like having twenty men attack a pregnant elf on her own.” He hears her take a breath before she steps out to face him. She’s still got the dagger in her hands, but there’s another weapon at her side now too - a sunforge blade, its dim glow lighting up the sneer on her features. She beckons him closer with a finger, the corner of her lip tilting upwards in a smirk. “Why don’t you face me on your own like a man?”

He laughs at her, stepping carefully up the stairs, his sword gripped tightly in his hand. “Because I’m not an idiot,” he says. “In any case, I’m not here to fight fair. I’m just here to kill _you._ ” He steps onto the landing and jabs at her - but she only dodges and rolls out of the way.

“Suppose you _do_ kill me tonight,” she says. “Then what?”

“Then every elf in the city will revolt against it - against _humans_ and your King and your Prince will have no choice but to shut the borders for good.” Balan smirks at her. “You didn’t think I _just_ hated you, did you? Don’t flatter yourself. You and your husband _disgraced_ me but your kind are _monsters_ and have no place here. This… _marriage_ of yours only solidifies the alliance Katolis has with Xadia, but your _death_ \- and at the hands of humans, no less - that destroys _everything_ you worked for, doesn’t it? That _removes_ you monsters from this side of the border. And, you know - as a bonus - you’ll be _dead._ ” He lunges at her, but this time she brings the sunforge blade to meet him. His sword catches hers, just for a moment, before the heat of her blade sears through his and the pointy end of his sword drops to the ground, useless.

“I’m impressed,” laughs the elf, darting backwards. She turns the sunforge blade around in her hand. “But those assassins of yours couldn’t kill me. You won’t either.”

“If I wanted you dead _then_ , I’d have hired assassins who were competent,” snaps Balan. He swipes at her again with what’s left of his sword but she spins out of the way and he puts the metal of his broken blade into the wall instead. “They were never meant to succeed that night. They were just meant to scare your husband into hiding you away.”

The elf scowls at him, her guard dropping just for a moment. “You paid eight men and women to try to kill me knowing they would _die_ trying before you ever had to give away a cent? And you’re calling _me_ the monster?”

“They were just assassins,” says Balan with a shrug. “Not even very good ones, as I’m sure you know. No one will miss them.”

The elf makes a face, disgusted, but Balan yanks his sword out of the wall and leers towards her, spinning the hilt in his hands. “Fine then,” she snaps, backing away from him. “You separated us. I’m here, and he’s all the way over there, and I’ve had _this -_ ” She waves the dagger in his face - “the whole time so you _knew_ I was here. Why wait? Why not try this earlier?”

Balan smirks at her. “You figured out its purpose but not why I waited? I thought you were smarter.”

“Indulge me anyway.”

Balan takes his own turn to laugh. “Your darling husband,” he drawls. “You think I would have risked coming here if there was any chance he could get here while I was? No. He’s at the Confluence of Kings today, isn’t he? He couldn’t get here in time to rescue you even if he flew.”

The elf snorts at him, her smile mocking and unfriendly. “Bold of you to think I need rescuing,” she sneers. “But honestly, I’m still impressed. I didn’t think you had the brains to pull off something like this. Suppose all that time in disgrace gave you some time to think.”

Balan scowls. “Enough of this,” he says, tossing his half sword to the ground and unsheathing a dagger from his own belt. “I’m here for one thing, and it’s you. Now do the Kingdom of Katolis a favour and _die._ ” He charges at her, but the elf smirks and ducks out of the way.

“Not today.”

She’s a graceful fighter, even pregnant, he’ll give her that. She parries his blows left handed and attacks with the sunforge blade in her right, but he’s faster and stronger than her in every way. He dodges her swipes with ease - once, she clips his old armour with the sunforge blade - but she doesn’t get close beyond that. He pushes back, relentless, until she shoulders her way into the room at the end of the hall and makes a break for the window.

He actually _laughs_ \- there’s a two storey drop on the other side of the glass with no ledges to climb onto and nothing else to slow her fall, and there’s no way she can get to the door without passing by him, first. She’s trapped up here, and Balan unhooks a crossbow from his hip, loads it at his leisure, and takes aim at her from the doorway. “Nowhere else to run, elf,” he sneers, even as she makes a break for the wall and slides the open the laundry chute door. “You’re going to die today.”

“Am I?” she asks, holding the sunforge blade over the chute.

She _flickers._

Balan pauses, his finger on the trigger of the crossbow, a frown creasing his brow. Downstairs, he hears his men, their voices frantic as they try to call for him - and the elf smirks as realization dawns on his features.

This was a _trap._

He fires the crossbow.

The elf disappears.

The sunforge blade drops, and then there’s _fire_ in the lodge, rushing up the chute and spilling out through the door. Balan scrambles out of the room, his cape over his nose as smoke fills the air, and downstairs, he hears his men scream. He stumbles across the hall to the bannister to find the exits blocked by flames and his men on their knees, sputtering and struggling to breathe, their faces panicked as they look for _some way_ to escape.

He snarls and pulls his map from his belt, but the blip is gone. Of course it would be. She knew what the dagger was, and if she’s with that mage girl, then it’s too much to hope she wouldn’t have disabled it or cloaked it in some way. Meanwhile his men are dying, and he’s lost his upper hand, and she’s _gone_. There’s no way to track her, and her Prince will know he’s behind all this by dawn.

“Well done, elf,” he hisses, reaching into the pouch at his belt for the phoenix beak within it. “ _Semalf mrof em dliehs.”_

The beak crumbles in his palm, what’s left of its power running through his veins, cooling his skin and his armour enough to walk through the fire at the front entrance unharmed and undeterred. The night air fills his lungs happily, and he stares into the darkness angry, but _alive_. His men aren’t quite so lucky, but there’s a lesson in their loss.

"Picked up some new tricks, I see," he mutters, scowling. "Not to worry, elf. So have I."

 

x

 

Miles away, Rayla opens her eyes and gasps awake.

They’re in a clearing about four hours from the Banther Lodge on horseback. Soren’s standing guard, the bottle of Potenserum in hand and at the ready, Rowena on her left, Claudia on her right, her Primal Stone lighting up the concentration on her features.

“Princess,” fusses Rowena. She scrambles for a skin of water hanging off one of the horse’s saddles and unstops it for her. “Princess, breathe, you’re okay.”

Beside her, Claudia drops the Primal Stone, her shoulders slumping in exhaustion, but she takes Rayla’s elbows in her hands anyway and helps her sit up. “Rayla - Rayla, what happened?”

“Mirror,” Rayla rasps, gulping down as much water as her mouth will allow her. “Quick.”

Rowena fumbles, her fingers clumsy as she tries to pull the message mirror out of the pocket of Rayla’s dress. She presses it into Rayla’s palms, and Rayla wipes the excess water off her chin with her sleeve and clears Callum’s last message with the heel of her hand.

 _It’s Balan_ , she writes. _He found us but we’re okay. We’re safe. The little Moonbeam too._

There’s a long pause before the mirror lights up again. Rayla takes it as an opportunity to get to her feet and to let Claudia and Rowena help her back onto a horse. When Callum responds, his answer is brief:

_Thank the gods. Go to the Moon Nexus. I’ll meet you there._

She holds the message up to the others. “You heard him,” she says hoarsely. “Let’s move.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We wanted to have a baby shower for you, you know,” she tells Rayla quietly. She sounds almost sad about it. "We were so excited."

xviii.

  


Rayla messages him just after nightfall.

It’s been a long day. Kuritsa is exhausted - Callum’s been riding her ragged, urging her into her fastest gallop with little to no breaks, but as desperate as he is to get to Rayla now; as much as he wants to find and protect his wife and unborn child - an injured horse won’t get him to her faster. He stops to let Kuritsa rest for the night on the bank of a river on the outskirts of the city  - she’s not pleased with him, and in total honesty, Callum’s not pleased with himself either. He should never have agreed to hide Rayla away. He should never have been more than half a day’s ride from her. And if anything’s happened to her - if the reason she hasn’t messaged him back all day is because something’s gone _wrong_ \- he’d never forgive himself for it.

He gives Kuritsa a carrot - takes the saddlebag off her back and lets her wander a little way down the river, but he leaves his things packed. There’s no point in setting up camp - not really - not when he knows he won’t be sleeping tonight. There’s little chance he’ll be sleeping at all until he knows for sure that Rayla’s safe and back in his arms. He tries and he tries and he tries to convince himself that it’s a long shot; that she’s been safe for months, and that there’s no reason to believe that would change now. Even if someone _did_ find her, Soren and Claudia are there, and they’d promised to protect her, and, pregnant or not, she can take care of herself - but the image of blood between her thighs is burned into his memory; her fear, her panic, his own _terror_ etched into his mind like those assassins had come for her yesterday and not two entire months ago.

What if they’ve found her again? What if it’s too late? What if she’s - What if their _baby’s_ -

He’s too scared to even finish the question.

He spends the evening pacing in the clearing, clinging to Claudia’s message mirror like his life depends on Rayla’s next message, staring at his own writing and praying to every god he knows of for her and the baby to be okay.

When her message _does_ come, he nearly breaks.

 _It’s Balan_ , her handwriting says, the lines shaky and hurried. _He found us but we’re okay. We’re safe. The little Moonbeam too._

The air leaves his lungs in a rush. His knees wobble. His throat closes and his heart hammers in his chest, his relief so overwhelming that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He collapses against a tree, his face buried in his palms, his breathing heavy and uneven as he as he reads the message a second - third - _fourth_ time before he dares to believe it.

“Thank heavens,” he whispers at last. It’s almost a sob, but Callum doesn’t even care. They’re _fine._ They’re _safe._ They’re _okay._ That’s all that matters.

He sucks in a breath. Holds it within his lungs and lets it settle the racing of his heart before he wipes the mirror clean at last.

 _Thank the gods,_ he writes finally. _Go to the Moon Nexus. I’ll meet you there._

It’s a split second decision - the Nexus is difficult to get to, and Lujanne’s illusions might scare off anyone who doesn’t already know that that’s all they are - but it’s risky and he knows it. It’ll take a few days to get there, even on horseback - more, Callum tells himself, because at thirty weeks, Rayla shouldn’t be riding on horseback _at all_ \- and even beyond that, there are bandits and banthers and all manner of other things that would be a danger to her and the baby, but what other choice do they have? They can’t go back to the Banther Lodge, and it would be unwise to hide in any old village when they can barely even trust their own guards. At the very least, they _know_ Lujanne, and her protection and the mountain’s is certainly a better option than any of the alternatives.

Callum swallows heavily and runs a tired hand through his hair. When he checks the mirror again, his handwriting is gone and replaced by Rayla’s once more.

_Okay. See you soon. I love you._

The words make his heart ache. He thinks the separation might have been better if it hadn’t come on the heels of an attempted assassination, but two months away from her is too long. He _misses_ her. _So_ much. And Callum breathes in deeply, wipes the mirror clean with the edge of his hand, and writes back:

_I love you, too. Please be safe. You and our little Moonbeam._

_We will_ , comes her response. _You too._

He stares at her writing for a while after that, unsure how to promise her that he will be when he knows the trip to the Nexus will be fraught with tension and sleepless nights. His own reflection stares up at him behind her writing, his eyes dull and tired, the bags beneath them visible even in the poor light - but something else hits him in that moment too.

_Balan._

Callum frowns at himself in the mirror.

Balan, the incompetent, self-serving, ex-head of the Katolan Army? The same ex-general Ez had dismissed after the whole arranged marriage debacle over a year when he’d tried to force Rayla into leaving? The one Callum had punched in the face at a ball for calling Rayla a slew of words he refuses to repeat even in his head?

 _That_ Balan?

His fingers tighten around the mirror. Of course it would be him. How could it be anyone else? He’d had it coming, but they’d still _humiliated_ him. Callum had _punched him in the face_ in front of an audience of human _and_ elven dignitaries; and they stood there and _watched_ as Ezran dismissed him from his council and stripped him of his livelihood.

Of _course_ he’d be furious.

Of _course_ he’d want Rayla _dead._

He’d always been old-fashioned and bigoted, and the very concept of elves in Katolis had irked him, even then. Sowing civil unrest in the capitol between elves and humans and timing it with the assassination of their brand new elven princess would guarantee a civil war, and would force Ez to close their borders for good. Everything Callum and Rayla had ever worked for would be for nothing, and on top of that, she would be _dead_ and he would be _ruined_ , and at the end of it all, Balan would win and his revenge would be complete.

It’s almost too smart for him, Callum thinks. Perhaps those months in disgrace had given him time to think. Perhaps they had tempered him and allowed him to plan this to the letter. Whatever the case, he’s stepped up his game and Callum finds himself scowling, angered by his _gall._

How _dare_ he?

How _dare_ he even _think_ about touching her?

Rayla’s blades at his back have never felt so present before now, and they’re heavy and ominous within their sheaths. Callum’s never been prone to violence - it’s, at the very least, never been his first port of call - but there’s a not a lot he _wouldn’t_ do for the sake of his wife and his unborn child right now, and if that means killing this bastard before he has the chance to kill them, then -

Then fine, he decides. If that’s what he has to do to keep them safe, _fine._

Something snuffles at his hair, and Callum blinks to find Kuritsa at his side again, looking sated and significantly less irritable. She noses at his ears affectionately, and he lets out a snort, lifts the hand without the mirror in it to pat her snout, and presses his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry about today,” he mumbles. “I was… scared. That they’d found her. That they’d -” He cuts himself off, a lump in his throat once again.

Kuritsa brays at him, her breath blowing gently over the fabric of his scarf. It’s not much, but it’s understanding, Callum thinks, and he’s grateful for it.

“Rest up,” he mutters. “We have to start moving again in the morning. Okay?”

She nickers, folds her legs underneath her, and huffs, curling her body in front of his until he’s shielded on both sides by her and the trunk of the tree behind him.

Callum lets out a chuckle, her intentions obvious even to him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, leaning over to brush her mane.

Kuritsa only brays once more before she lays her head down to sleep.

 

x

 

It’s nearing midnight when Rayla lets out a cry.

They’re still moving - Soren riding on the horse ahead of her, reigns wrapped tightly around his knuckles, Rowena on the ground beside her, guiding Vorobey after Soren by her reigns, Claudia behind her, masking their tracks with the Primal Stone in her hand. Rayla’s riding side-saddle when it happens - better for the baby than riding astride, but not the comfiest way to ride, and certainly not the most stable either. The sudden spasm through her belly rocks her, and she wobbles dangerously on Vorobey before she feels Rowena’s hands on hers and Soren’s arm under her knees.

“It’s - it’s fine,” she manages through gritted teeth, even as they help her off Vorobey and as her knees buckle under her when her feet touch the ground. “It’s okay - it’s just - _ow -_ ” Rayla sucks in a breath, her fingers pressing dents into the skin of her belly as the pain subsides.

“A contraction?” finishes Rowena, helping her settle against the nearest tree. She touches bump carefully, frowning at the tension in the muscles between her fingers. “They’re normal at this stage,” she murmurs, “but we need to stop for the night. Halfling bubs have a tendency to come early but - I think riding might be agitating things.”

“We can’t stop,” says Rayla. “We need to put as much distance between us and Balan as possible, and if that means we keep moving -”

“If we keep moving, we put the baby at risk,” snaps Rowena, her tone sharp - sharper than Rayla’s ever heard it. She catches herself too late and relents almost immediately, her head bowed low, her cheeks red with shame. “I - I’m sorry, Princess, I -”

But Rayla lets out a sigh and looks away. “Don’t apologise,” she mumbles, because it’s true - every moment she’s not at rest is dangerous for her and for the baby and the fact that they, _somehow_ , have to make it to the Moon Nexus while she’s so heavily with child is bad enough on its own.

Claudia catches Soren’s eye over her head, her concern lit up by the dim light of her Primal Stone. “I’ll take first watch,” she says decisively. “We should start moving again before dawn.”

Rayla gives Rowena a _look_ , an unspoken _is that satisfactory_ in the violet of her eyes.

Rowena purses her lips, glancing between the three of them reluctantly, but they’re right. There’s probably more immediate danger in staying in one place for too long than there is in trying to get to the Nexus, and in the end, she sighs and nods her head. “Not a moment sooner,” she grumbles, getting up briefly to unhook the saddlebag off of Vorobey’s back. She comes back with a bunch of blankets bundled under her arms; hands one to Soren and drapes a second over Rayla’s knees before she settles against the tree herself.

It’s an uncomfortable night for all of them.

Rowena passes out in minutes but she tosses and turns in her sleep, shivering under the too-thin blanket in the face of the autumn chill. Soren keeps nodding off, but he jerks awake every so often, muttering incoherencies under his breath while Claudia paces up and down the clearing.

Rayla doesn’t even try. The baby’s been growing more and more active these past couple of weeks, and between the way it’s kicking and the way her stomach turns, she has a feeling that sleep probably won’t come anyway. She plays with her mirror instead.

There’s a new drawing in it - one of her and Callum, his lips pressed to her belly.

He doesn’t draw himself, usually. He must really miss her if he’s kissing her bump through his sketches in lieu of waiting to do so in person. It makes her smile, and when Claudia passes her by probably for the tenth or eleventh time, she pauses.

“You okay?”

“Hm?” says Rayla, glancing up at her. “Oh. It’s just Callum.” She holds the mirror out to Claudia, and Claudia takes it, her lips twitching upwards at the little drawing in the glass.

She glances around the clearing, listening for extraneous sounds and footsteps coming their way, but when she hears nothing, she drops in front of her, legs crossed, Primal Stone in her lap. “He’s really excited to meet the baby, huh?” she murmurs, handing the mirror back with cold fingers.

Rayla chuckles ruefully. “I wish he could be. Right now, he’s probably terrified. If it were the other way around - if someone wanted _him_ dead - I’d be losing my mind with worry. I think this all he can do right now.” She rearranges her blanket a little - takes the end of it and throws it over Claudia’s legs too. “I’m sorry you had to do all this.”

Claudia raises an eyebrow at her. “Do all what? Come all the way out here with you to keep you safe from Balan?”

“Well, yeah,” mumbles Rayla, glancing away. “You could be helping Soren recover. You could be in Lantha learning magic from the elves there. You could _not_ be out here, keeping guard in a clearing in the middle of the night just to  -” She pauses, still reluctant to admit it, even to herself - “to _protect_ me.”

Claudia makes a face at her - a half frown, closer to incredulous than anything else. “Even if we were, you think we wouldn’t come back at the first sign of trouble? You’d do the same if we needed you. You _did_ do the same - pregnant and all. I’m just sorry you had to to begin with.” She draws her knees up under her chin and sighs, her shoulders slumping even as her eyes dart around their clearing once more. “We wanted to have a baby shower for you, you know,” she tells Rayla quietly. She sounds almost sad about it. "We were so excited."

Rayla blinks at her, unfamiliar with the term. “Baby shower?”

“It’s like a little party in honour of a new mom-to-be,” Claudia explains. “We get you presents, shower you with love, that kind of thing. Ez and I have been planning it since before you guys left for Ahlon. We’d be having it now, if it wasn’t for all this.”

In spite of herself, Rayla lets out a laugh. She stifles it with her hands, careful not to wake Soren and Rowena. “I don’t think we need any more gifts,” she says quietly. “The little Moonbeam’s got enough to keep it occupied now, I think. But… it’d be nicer than this.”

“Anything would be nicer than this,” chuckles Claudia. She breathes in, huddling under the blanket with another sigh. “I’m really happy for you guys,” she says at last. “You deserve to be happy and to start a family and - we’ll get him, Rayla. We will, and you’re gonna have this baby, and no one’s ever going to threaten you, or it, or Callum, ever again.”

Rayla smiles at her. A real one - a _grateful_ one - and she reaches for Claudia’s fingers over the blanket and holds them tight within hers. “I don’t doubt it,” she says quietly. She winces a little as the baby shifts in her womb, its limbs (she thinks) poking her in funny places, and when she catches Claudia’s eye, she snorts and rests her hand against the bump.

Her fingers are cold - Rayla can feel it through the material of her dress - but they’re gentle, and Claudia smiles as it shifts nonetheless.

“I know we haven’t been friends for that long,” mutters Rayla at last. “But if… anything goes _wrong_ the day our little Moonbeam comes into the world or… if anything happens to me or to Callum afterwards… promise me you’ll look after it.”

“I’m not promising you anything of the sort,” says Claudia stubbornly. “You’re going to be fine. All three of you.”

“Claudia.”

Claudia swallows, and when she looks at Rayla at last, there’s fear in her eyes.

Rayla gets it - as much as maternal death has decreased over the past four years (thanks mostly to the elves that have settled in Katolis) childbirth isn’t without its risks. Rayla likes to think she’s come to terms with it, but her death isn’t the scariest part. Not really. She’d been an assassin, once upon a time, and she’d grown used to the idea of it, and she hasn’t even met the child and already, she’d rather die than let anything happen to it.

No, the scariest part, she thinks, is the idea of her child growing up without someone to look after it. Ezran’s young yet, and while he would in a heartbeat, it’s unfair for her and Callum to expect him to take it in when he’s already supposed to be taking care of his Kingdom at so young an age. They can’t ask Aunt Amaya, either, because she has responsibilities to Ezran and to Katolis’ army, and while Rayla loves her uncles dearly, Callum is Ez’s heir apparent, which means this child would have a claim to the Katolan throne and would have to be raised in Katolis until such a time that Ez produces as an heir himself.

“It has to be you,” says Rayla finally. “If anything happens to us, you and Soren are the only ones we can reasonably ask to raise this child. Promise me you’ll look after it.”

“Rayla, I can’t -”

“ _Promise me._ ”

Claudia swallows, but there’s a seriousness in the way Rayla grips her hand that doesn’t let her look away. “I promise,” she mumbles at last. “But nothing’s going to happen to either of you. You’re going to raise your little Moonbeam yourself. We’ll make sure of it.”

“I know you will,” says Rayla, but relief wells in her chest anyway. “But just in case.”

Claudia hesitates, but she grips Rayla’s hand back, her jaw clenched shut when she nods. “Just in case.”

 

x

 

In Cyra, Runaan receives a raven.

It arrives in the late morning, and the message it carries bears the seal of the King of Katolis. The letter itself is short - just a few sentences in King Ezran’s hurried scrawl, and when Runaan reads over it, he feels his stomach drop through the floor.

_Someone tried to have Rayla assassinated. They’re on the move now to get her someplace safe. They need help. I’ll send more information as I get it._

“Tinker,” he snaps, the letter scrunched in his good hand. “Where’s my bow? I need to get to Katolis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so technically I'm still on a break, but also I have job interview I need to study for, and if you were reading ADA when it came out, y'all know what happens when I get stressed.
> 
> (It's fic. I turn to fic when I get stressed).


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re _despicable_ ,” seethes Callum. “And I will _end_ you if I have to.”

xix.

 

 

“I don’t suppose there’s any stopping you.”

Tinker’s words come out terse. Bitter, almost, and from a certain standpoint, Runaan understands. It’s not like he’s forgotten that his left arm is just an illusion. It might feel real, and it might have enough dexterity to help him do the simpler, day to day things, but he’s not an assassin by trade anymore for a reason, and it’s not because of the fragile peace between Xadia and the Five Kingdoms. He hasn’t been in a fight since his now nephew-in-law pulled him out of that coin in the worst shape of his life - his body weak and malnourished, his arm blackened and dead at his side.

No, he hasn’t forgotten. He could never forget the agony of that binding and the way his confinement in that coin had forced him to bear it alone. He could never forget the months of painful rehabilitation, and the months after that of learning how to use the prosthetic to the limited dexterity he has today. He might _pretend_ that he’s fine now, but he’ll never, ever _forget_.

But Rayla might as well be a daughter to him and he can’t stand by and do nothing while she’s in danger. If the circumstances were different, he might find it funny - assassins coming for _her_ like she isn’t better trained and more capable than any other in the world - but she’ll be close to thirty-one weeks pregnant now, and he imagines defending herself isn’t exactly an option. 

“Do you really expect me not to go?” he asks at last, drawing his knapsack shut with a scowl. He snatches his bow off the bed. That’s all it can be now - the swords it breaks into are supposed to be dual wielded, and one without the other is not quite as useful as just using the bow form.

Tinker shakes his head. “No,” he mutters quietly. “Of course not. Not if Rayla needs help.” He steps aside to let Runaan back into the hall, his boots tucked neatly under his good arm, a quiver of arrows hanging haphazardly from his elbow. Tinker takes it from him, disapproval set into the downturned line of his lips. “Let me come with you.”

“No.” The answer is clipped. Short, and perhaps a bit more brusque than Runaan intends for it to be but he has other concerns right now. “It’s dangerous.”

Tinker bristles. “And it’ll be _less_ dangerous for you, will it?” he says dryly. “Don’t be a fool, Runaan, you can’t help her in your condition. Not on your own.”

“I can and I will,” snaps Runaan. “I made a promise to her mother. I won’t break it.”

“She’s my niece as much as she is yours.”

Runaan scowls a second time, dumps his knapsack and his boots into a pile on the floor, and rounds on Tinker, unimpressed. “What, exactly, do _you_ intend to do?” he hisses, drawing himself to his full height. “You’re not combat trained. You have no experience in battle. You won’t be any use to her or to me if things go south.”

“ _You_ won’t be of any use to her _dead_ .” Tinker glares at him, his shoulders square, his eyes hard. He snatches at the charm Runaan wears on his belt, and the prosthetic arm shimmers and disappears - an unpleasant demonstration of the fact that Runaan’s _not_ what he used to be, no matter how much he tries to pretend that he is. “You’re being stubborn,” snaps Tinker. “That’s how even the best of warriors _die._ She won’t forgive you for that. Neither will I. You will _not_ put me through that again.”

Runaan has the decency to look abashed at that. He turns his eyes away, guilty, and snatches the charm back, his arm shimmering back into place. “I can’t not go, Tinker.”

“I’m not asking you not to.” Tinker’s voice is earnest, and he takes the charm again to tie it back onto Runaan’s belt. “I want you to let me _help_.”

“You _can’t._ ” He still doesn’t look at him, ashamed of the truth he’s so hesitant to admit. “I can’t protect us both. Not like this.”

“You don’t have to _protect_ me,” says Tinker gently. He tilts Runaan’s face back towards his, the pads of his fingers soft against his cheek. “I can take care of myself. I just... want you to be safe. I… can’t lose you. Or her. Not again.” His voice drops to a whisper but he holds Runaan’s gaze, unafraid of the intimacy.

Runaan heaves a sigh. Tinker’s always been better at honest words, but to Runaan, it’s easier to be so in gestures. It’s a Moonshadow elf thing, he thinks. Probably something to do with the fact that he doesn’t have to admit to being afraid in so many words. He touches Tinker’s hand; brings it to his lips and presses a kiss against his fingertips, understanding and  patience in the deliberateness of his movements. “You won’t,” he says at last, his voice soft. “Lose either of us, I mean. I’ll find her, and I’ll keep her safe, I swear it. But… if you want to help, then I need you here. King Ezran needs a point of contact, and I need those messages relayed to me somehow or it’ll be a tougher job. I’ll bring her home, Tinker. Her, and the baby, and her Prince. It’ll be okay.”

Tinker’s eyes harden, unhappy with the decision, but there’s a softness on his face that understands. “Give me your charm then,” he says, only a little crisply. His irritation isn’t lost on Runaan, but he doesn’t argue all the same. “If you’re going to go, then you’ll go with better protection than that.”

Runaan releases a breath, almost relieved. “Thank you,” he murmurs, removing the charm from his belt once more, but Tinker shakes his head.

“Save it for when you get back,” he says, turning away from him. “It’s rude to die ungrateful.”

“I won’t die.”

“So they all say,” snorts Tinker. “But at least this way, there’s impetus not to.”

 

x

 

The Banther Lodge is still smouldering when Callum gets to it the following morning. He feels his jaw tighten at the sight of it - its charred, black remains like an unpleasant scar in the woods. He pulls Kuritsa to a stop by the river and climbs off of her, one of Rayla’s blades in his hand, raised and at the ready - for Balan, in case he’s still here; for _anyone_ -

But the ruined lodge is empty, and there’s no one else in the woods. There’s only the rush of the river and the crunch of autumn leaves under his feet, and Kuritsa, braying uneasily as he leaves her on the riverbank. 

“It’ll just be a few minutes,” he promises her. “We’ll be out of here before you know it.”

She stamps her feet uncomfortably but does nothing else.

Callum doesn’t really blame her. The quiet sets him on edge. It’s too still - too _silent_ for what happened here last night. The wreckage is too fresh, the tracks are too sinister, the smell of smoke and burnt flesh still hangs in the air, too pungent ignore. It makes him shudder.

Rayla had told him everything through the mirror: how they’d found the tracking rune within the sheath of the dagger; how Claudia had linked it to the blade to fool Balan into thinking they were still there; how they’d doused the lodge in turpentine to remove as much of the threat as possible in one fell swoop. Quietly, Callum wonders if he should feel more remorse for the men that died here - there’s been a lot of that lately, he’s noticed - but between them and the safety of his wife and child, he knows which he’d rather.

He imagines some of these ashes are theirs.  

He steps into the threshold gingerly, his footprints leaving clean spots in the blackened stones. The floorboards creak under his feet and Callum hesitates, afraid for a moment that what’s left of the wood won’t hold his weight - but the moment passes, and he presses on.  Ailas’ sunforge blade is still in the basement, Rayla had told him. He’d offered to grab it on his way past if only because a blade like that might be dangerous if anyone else (read: _Balan_ ) found it in the wreckage, but there are other weapons here too: swords and spearheads and snapped bows, the silver of their steel tarnished by the fire.

There’s a part of him that thinks he should be comforted by this. It’s proof that Rayla can take care of herself, even now - proof that she’s still as strong, and as clever, and as unyielding as she’s always been in spite of the dire circumstances, and that it’ll take more than the twenty men who were here last night to knock her down - but the ruined lodge and the broken weapons serve as reminders instead: of the people who wanted her dead and of what it took to get away.

Callum’s grip around the hilt of her blade tightens. He swallows, wrinkling his nose at the still overly-present smell of smoke and ash, but he sucks in a breath, shaking off his aversion to it off as he picks his way through the rest of the damage.

He finds the sunforge blade exactly where she’d said it would be - blade embedded in the stones at the bottom of what’s left of the laundry chute, the sheath tucked safely away behind a loose brick in the wall. Callum tugs it out of the ground with a grunt, sheathes it without ceremony, and hurries back up the stairs, eager to be back on his way. 

He whistles for Kuritsa as he climbs onto the landing, and she nickers; trots towards the front steps, her mane fluttering gently in the breeze. The blade goes straight into her saddlebag, its hilt sticking awkwardly out of the opening, and Callum’s in the process of flicking Rayla’s blade back into its own hilt when he hears a twig snap in the distance.

Kuritsa’s ears prick forward. 

Callum’s heart leaps into his throat. 

He panics. Flicks the blade back out again and seizes the mare by the reigns to tug her behind the single, still-standing stone wall with rune scribbled hastily into the air behind them to mask their tracks. No one appears for a while. And then -

_Balan._

Callum’s breath catches in his throat, and he shushes Kuritsa and draws a different rune into the air. “ _Non nostrum videas,”_ he whispers, Kuritsa’s reigns tight around his fist. “Shh,” he adds to her. “Shh. Hold still, okay? Just for a bit.”

Kuritsa shakes out her mane uneasily, but she makes no other sounds, even as Balan strides through the clearing with a grim determination set into the lines of his face.

The past year and a bit hasn’t been kind to him. He certainly looks older than that day Ez had dismissed him from the castle, his armour ill-fitting and loose on his frame. His eyes are colder, though. Crueler, and more calculating, his lips pressed together severely as he climbs the stone steps at the front of the lodge, ignorant to their presence thanks to Callum’s magic. He pauses at the top of the steps, the pack in his right fist swinging lightly in the autumn wind, and he frowns - for a moment, Callum thinks he might see them, Moon magic and all - but he shakes his head a moment later and steps into the lodge.

Callum’s knuckles go white around the hilt of Rayla’s blade, his breathing growing heavier as anger rises in his chest. He could do it now. End this once and for all while Balan’s not ready for him. Strike him down while his back is turned, the way he would if the situation were reversed. It’d be easy. Too easy. So easy that Callum doesn’t realize he’s started forward until Balan pulls a book from his bag and sets a candle on the burnt floorboards.

Callum stares at him from behind the invisibility of his magic. A vigil perhaps? No. He’s not the type. 

But then he pulls a little clay pot from his pack too. Removes the lid from it and sprinkles its contents into the flame. Whispers something unintelligible and _blows -_

Callum recognises the ritual almost too late. The wolves materialise with a howl, wisps of smoke rolling off their bodies, their eyes glowing purple and menacing against blackness of their fur. It’s been years since Callum’s seen them, only… there’s something different about them. Claudia’s were made of smoke when she summoned them, all those years ago. Balan’s are… _solid._

His intentions are obvious the moment they appear, but Kuritsa nickers before Callum has the chance to do anything about it. She rears, afraid of them and the magic that’s brought them into being and the invisibility spell breaks with her movements. When Balan looks up, he smirks, his surprise betrayed only briefly when it crosses his face. 

“Your Highness,” he drawls, bowing insincerely. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but of course your whore of a wife would go running straight to you. Have you come to kill me, then?”

Callum snarls at him, untangling his hand from Kuritsa’s reigns to draw Rayla’s other blade from its sheath at his back. “If that’s what it’s going to take,” he snaps. He jabs one of Rayla’s swords at his wolves. “Learned some new tricks, I see. Pretty sure those are illegal.”

Balan snorts. “Do you like them? It took a while to get them _just_ right. Can’t have them blowing away after all. No, these are much more dangerous. I’m very pleased with how they’ve come out.” 

“You’re _despicable,_ ” seethes Callum. “And I will _end_ you if I have to.”

Balan’s smirk grows wider. “How very chivalrous of you,” he says, drawing his own sword. “You’re welcome to try, I suppose. Do you think you could do it before my wolves find your wife?” He snaps his fingers, and the wolves howl once more and make a break for the wood. They disappear into the trees in wisps of purple smoke, and panic flares in Callum’s system. 

His eyes flit after them - Claudia’s Moon magic isn’t made for combat like that, and if those wolves find them, they’ll be sitting ducks but Balan’s _there_ and all of this could end _now_ -

Balan only laughs. “What’ll it be, Your Highness?” he taunts. “My life or hers?”

Callum doesn’t dignify him with a response. He flicks both of Rayla’s blades back into their hilts and vaults onto Kuritsa’s back, scribbling a rune into the air as he steers Kuritsa after them. Lightning sparks in his hands - " _Fulminis maxima!"_ he roars _,_ hurling it at Balan -

But Balan's already gone. Callum scowls to himself, but he wastes no more time looking for him, the fear in his gut far too _real_ to ignore. "Go Kuritsa!" he hisses, the urgency plain in his voice. "Hurry!"

He can only hope he gets finds them before the wolves do.

 

x

 

Claudia recognises the howling before anyone else does.

She pauses in her tracks, and it takes Rayla a full ten seconds before she realizes that Claudia’s fallen behind, her brow furrowed at the woods behind them. They’ve been following the Sannigan River for a couple of hours now - they need somewhere to cross, but the river is wide, and the current is too fast for the horses to tolerate. Soren had said something about a ford a little closer to the base of the mountain, which would probably be ideal, Rayla thinks -

If Claudia didn’t look so concerned.

Rayla tugs Vorobey to a stop, swivelling in his saddle carefully to frown after her. “Claudia,” she calls. “What’s wrong?”

Claudia hesitates, her shoulders tense, her back straight, her Primal Stone clutched tightly in her hands. Even with her back to her, Rayla can practically see the way she stares down the wood, her eyes following the birds as they flutter from trees, her ears pricked for -

Rayla hears it the second time.

The howling is unmistakable. She remembers it from years ago. Remembers the burn of the bite in her arm and the way her swords passed uselessly throught the smoke of their bodies, but there’s something different about the sound this time around. Something _worse._ It makes her blood run cold.

“We have to move,” whispers Claudia. “ _Now._ ”

Rayla wastes no time arguing with her. She shuffles forward in the saddle to let Claudia climb on behind her, lets her take the reigns so she can brace her belly, and whistles to spur Vorobey into a quicker trot. Soren and Rowena are a little way ahead now, and Claudia calls out to them -

“Soren! We’ve gotta move faster! There’s -”

She doesn’t even get the whole sentence out. A blur leaps from the edge of the wood - its shadowy paws catch Soren right in the chest, bowling him over and into riverbank. He barely has time to get his arms up in front of his face, and Rowena steers the stallion around, but he rears, terrified of the wolves and of the dark magic pulsing from off their fur as two more appear from the wood, teeth bared and menacing.

Soren kicks the first off, swearing, his gauntlets singed with bite marks. “Get across the river!” he barks, fumbling for the bottle of Potenserum in his pocket. “Rowena! Go!”

Rowena hesitates, reluctant to leave, but her stallion is panicked, its eyes so wide that Rayla can see the whites of its eyes, even from here.

She clicks her tongue - “Come on, Vorobey, we have to help!” - urging her forwards despite the filly’s obvious terror - until Claudia slides out of the saddle and slaps Vorobey’s rear flank. 

“Get her out of here, Vorobey,” she snaps, rune already half drawn in the air in front of her. “Go! We’ll catch up!”

Rayla shakes her head, furious, reigns wrapped so tightly around her hands that they leave prints in her skin. “I’m _not_ leaving you here,” she argues. “If you’re going to stay and fight, then so am I.”

“You can’t _do_ anything,” snaps Soren. He puts himself between her and the wolves - there’s five of them now, stalking towards them and forcing them into the river. Vorobey stamps uneasily, splashing water onto Rayla’s ankles as she backs into the Sannigan. 

Rayla scowls at him. “And _you_ can?” 

“More than _you_ ,” growls Soren, drawing his baselard in one hand, his Potenserum clenched tightly in the other. “Get _out_ of here!”

“We’ll be fine, Rayla,” adds Claudia sharply, conjuring illusions of white hounds out of stone in her hand. “ _You_ have to go. _Now._ ” She slaps Vorobey’s thigh for good measure, and the filly nickers, splashing further into the river.

“ _No_ \- Claudia! Soren!”

They don’t listen. No one does. Vorobey whines as she treads into the Sannigan, the water too cold to be even remotely comfortable, but she doesn’t stop, no matter how hard Rayla tugs  at her reigns.

Rowena and her stallion are already halfway into the river, the water chest high on the horse beneath her - even _she_ tries to steer him back - to help - to do _something_ \- but the stallion whinnies, afraid of the wolves and too determined to get to the bank on the other side to pay her any heed. 

Rayla snarls. “We can’t leave them,” she manages desperately, yanking even harder against Vorobey’s reigns. The rush of the river is loud in her ears, drowning out the sound of Soren’s grunts and Claudia’s draconic, and when she glances back, she does so in time to see Soren tackled once more into the ground, the vial of Potenserum flying out of his grasp. “ _Please_ , Vorobey, we have to help -”

But Vorobey ignores her. The cold bites through the leather of her boots, water soaking into the hem of her maternity dress and creeping upwards until it feels like ice on her thighs. The current is quick here - too quick for Rayla to get off and make her way back to them herself. 

Moon and Stars, she’s never been so _furious_ \- so _helpless_ \- there’s a solid chance Claudia and Soren won't make it out of this alive, and there’s nothing she can do but _watch_ - 

Rayla swears. She pounds a fist into the horn of Vorobey’s saddle, the reigns so tight around her hands and the river so cold that her fingers are going numb. “We have to go _back_ ,” she pleads, knowing Vorobey won’t listen. “ _Please_ , we can’t leave them there!”

“ _Flamma sphaera!”_

That voice - Rayla would know it anywhere - hope blooms in her chest, and she turns in the saddle, her voice tearing painfully from her throat. “ _Callum!”_

He’s _there_ \- his face twisted into an angry scowl, one of her blades in his hand as he leaps off Kuritsa and kicks Soren’s Potenserum back within reach, a ball of flames in his hand to keep Claudia out of harm’s way. It’s like seeing him for the first time: his magic awe-inspiring, his dexterity with her blades far better than she remembers. His movements aren’t quite so graceful, but there’s a precision there that she’s sure he didn’t have when she first put her blades into his hands and taught him how to spar. 

He turns, his breath heavy - catches sight of Rayla and Rowena, partway through the river, and draws a silver rune into the air, muttering something under his breath before he blows - 

A strip of water freezes across the Sannigan - a bridge, Rayla realizes - and he ushers Claudia and Soren onto it, their faces bruised, their fingers singed. “Get them out of here,” Rayla thinks she hears him say. “Get them somewhere safe.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” manages Soren tiredly. He hurries across the ice with a limp, Claudia trailing carefully behind him while Callum fends off the last of Balan’s wolves. 

He ducks under the bite of one - sends it hurtling into another with a clever combination of steel and magic - binds them both to the riverbank with an ice spell and holds them there until cracks appear in their shadowy fur and until they crumble beneath his magic - before he follows after Claudia and Soren, Kuritsa splashing into the river at his side.

They get to her first, but Rayla shakes her head. “Go get Rowie,” she tells them. “I’ll be okay.”

Claudia nods mutely, her footsteps clunking against the ice as she and Soren hurry across Callum’s makeshift bridge. Rayla steers Vorobey towards it; heaves herself onto the ice and untangles her fingers from the reigns, her hands marked with the shape of the leather. Vorobey lets out a huff, relieved to have _some_ slack, and without Rayla tugging so hard, she moves quicker across Sannigan and with significantly less trouble.

Rayla watches her climb onto the bank after the stallion, her teeth chattering from the cold. The bottom half of her dress is soaked through, and the ice and the bitter wind aren't helping. She curls into herself - breathes into her hands and rubs them against her belly to keep warm, and when Callum reaches her at last, he falls to his knees.

“Oh my gods, Rayla,” he mutters, pulling her into his arms. He kisses her hair; her forehead; the space between her horns - holds her hands within his and breathes onto them himself and -

 _Gods_ , Rayla missed him. There was never any doubt that she did, but his voice, and his eyes, and even his very scent - she doesn’t even know where to begin except to cling to him with freezing fingers. A sob breaks from her lips, the adrenaline and the hormones and the emotional turmoil too much for her all at once, especially when he shrugs off his scarf and his jacket and drapes them over her shoulders until she’s bundled up by his warmth.

“Callum,” she manages. “Callum, I -”

He shushes her with a kiss. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m here. I’m here, now. You’re okay.” He presses another kiss into her hair as another howl sounds from the woods.

They both pause - his arms tightening around her shoulders; her breath hitching in her throat. Quietly, Callum draws a rune and breaks the ice off from the other side of the river, muttering spells under his breath until that half of the bridge is gone - until the ice shrinks and the current carries it away.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe, okay?” he murmurs at last.

Rayla nods against him.

He doesn’t let go of her once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long, I'm so sorry


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m just - I love you, Rayla. And I missed you, and our little Moonbeam, and - ” He clears his throat. “I’m just glad to be home.”

xx.

 

Most days, Rayla makes a point of reminding everyone in the immediate vicinity that she can take care of herself, but there’s something to be said about the way Callum refuses to leave her side that even _she_ doesn’t dispute. It’s understandable - he’d missed her, and she him, and, to be perfectly frank, she’s not all that eager to be without him again in the first place. Two months is too long, and the mirrors had helped, but it’s not the _same_ . His warmth - his touch - his very _presence_ is different entirely, and the way he tugs Kuritsa along, his hand uncomfortably high just so his knuckles brush her shins every now and then isn’t lost on her.

They leave the Sannigan cold and battered and exhausted - Soren has bite shaped singes in his armour, Claudia has a bruise blooming on her left temple, and Rayla and Rowena are both soaked and shivering, even under the weight of multiple cloaks and blankets - but they’re alive and that’s what matters. There are more of those shadow wolves out there, their howls menacing and eerie in the cold autumn air, but they don’t follow them across the river. Maybe it’s because Callum’s here now, or maybe they can’t cross over water, or maybe they can’t be too far away from the source that conjured them - either way, they travel for the rest of the afternoon unhindered. It should make Rayla feel _safer_ , she thinks, at least a little, but even the distant howling makes her blood run cold and fills the pit of her stomach with dread.

They make camp for the night in a cave a little way up the base of the mountain.

It’s strangely nostalgic, even if the company is a bit different. It’s still her and Callum and an unborn baby, avoiding villages and finding safety in the darkness of an empty cave. If the circumstances were different, Rayla might have made jokes about it, but as it is, she doesn’t have it in her to even crack a smile.

Callum lights a fire.

Rowena counts the baby’s movements once they’re both dry and gives Rayla a once over to make sure everything’s still okay.

Claudia and Soren try to wander off to scout the area and find food.

Rowena scowls after them. “I don’t know that either of you are in a condition to do _anything_ of the sort,” she snaps. Secretly, Rayla thinks the severity of her tone is impressive. She doesn’t pull rank often, but she _is_ their resident nurse, and they _all_ know that she’s right.

But Soren shrugs his shoulders and pats Ailas’ sunforge blade, now safely secured to his belt again thanks to Callum. “Her Royal Highness has to eat,” he says, his tone pointed. “She’s pretty heavily with child, Rowie, we can’t let her starve just because we’re in ‘ _no condition’_ to hunt.”

“Plus, it’s pretty naive to just _assume_ that we’re safe,” adds Claudia quickly - before Rayla even has the chance to be indignant at Soren’s choice of words. “We need to know what’s out there.”

Rowena only bristles. “We made up some good distance _and_ we have rations from the lodge. There’s no _need_ to do anything risky.”

“It’s risky _not_ to scout the area.” Claudia gives her a _look_. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you come with us? Might be a good time for a walk.” Her eyes flit meaningfully to Rayla and Callum, their true intention painfully clear.

“What - and leave Her Highness alone?”

“She’s not alone,” says Soren, nodding at Callum. “She’s got Callum now. She’ll be fine. But she still needs to eat, and we still need to scout the area.” 

Rowena hesitates, a grimace pulling at her lips. She’s not an idiot - the understanding on her face is there, plain as day, but she has a duty of care to Rayla too and it’s not so professional to just _leave_ after such a harrowing ordeal. She’s absolutely right to be reluctant - this pregnancy’s been _hard_ , and Rayla’s been doing a lot of things she _really, really_ shouldn’t be doing this late in the game - but an hour away won’t hurt either.

Rayla wonders, sometimes, if she gets tired, being a nurse and midwife twenty-four/seven, and even from her own perspective, a little privacy isn’t unwanted. It’s been two _very_ long months, and she and Callum have barely had the chance to even _talk._

But Callum steps in then. “Go, Rowie,” he says - _insists_ \- at last. “I’ll look after her. Prince’s honour.”

She can’t really argue with that. It might as well be an order. Callum’s her Prince after all. Rowena presses her lips together - like there’s an argument building behind them that she’s trying to keep dammed up. It’d be fine, Rayla thinks, if they were still at the lodge, and giving them privacy meant as little as leaving the room, but going out with Claudia and Soren and being too far away to run back if she’s needed is different. In the end, she huffs. “Of course, Your Highness,” she grumbles finally. “Can I borrow one of your mirrors, at least? So I can come straight back if anything goes wrong.”

“That’s fair,” chuckles Callum, pulling his from his pocket and tossing it gently into her hands. “You’re a good nurse, Rowie,” he adds. “Thank you.”

Rowen relents and lets out a sigh, something like a blush gracing the pale skin of her cheeks. “Thank me when the baby’s born and once this all blows over,” she says quietly. 

“We won’t be gone long,” Claudia promises - more to Rowena, than to Callum and Rayla. 

“Just be safe,” says Callum. “We’ll see you soon.”

There are no other arguments after that. Claudia, Soren, and Rowena take their leave - Soren waving lazily as he and the others make their way back into the woods - and Callum draws a breath, waiting until they’re well and truly out of earshot before he turns to Rayla at last and crushes his lips against hers.

Rayla doesn’t miss a beat. She kisses him back, just as forcefully - just as _desperately_ \- because it’s been _two long months_ of missing each other; of pining for each other; of spending every waking moment clinging to their mirrors hoping the other’s _safe_ , and Callum’s _here_ now and she doesn’t know how else to tell him how much it _sucked_ to be apart. Her fingers find their way to his cheeks, and his are gentle on her shoulders, but _gods_ , how she’d missed the taste of his lips, and the warmth of his hands, and the fit of her body against his.

When he pulls away, his breath shudders, an almost sob breaking from his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, holding her tight. “I’m so sorry. I never should have agreed to send you away. I should have been with you, the whole time, Rayla, I -”

“Hush.” Rayla kisses him once more and brushes the hair out of his eyes. Carefully, she pries his hands from his shoulders and sets them against the swell of her belly as the baby wriggles within her. “I’m okay,” she murmurs. “Look, we both are.” 

He shakes his head. “No, Rayla - it’s _my_ fault - I _gave_ you that dagger, and all this time -” His breathing hitches, threatening to stop altogether as he stumbles over his apologies.

Rayla shushes him. “You didn’t know,” she says, her thumbs on his cheeks. Her voice is firm as she tilts his face up to meet her eyes. “Callum. Listen. You _didn’t know._ Neither of us did. And we’re safe now _because of you._ Look at me.” She ducks her head, framing his face with her hands so he can’t avoid her gaze. She’d missed his eyes too, the green of them, and the honesty and love that usually fills them, but there’s guilt there today. For the first time, Rayla realizes how awful he must feel for allowing that dagger to come into their hands in the first place -  the terror that must have plagued him _knowing_ that he’d _given_ her the thing that brought Balan to her a second time. 

She sucks in a breath. Kisses his lips again. Lets him feel for himself that she and the baby are well and truly _okay_ . “You didn’t _know_ ,” she says again, her forehead pressed to his. She breathes with him for a moment; steadies his breath with hers until his panic falls away and the rise and fall of his shoulders is even once more. “I missed you,” she says finally - softly, like a confession even though they’ve both known it for months. “We both did. She’s been… squirmier since you got here.”

“She?”

Rayla backtracks. _She_ , she’d said, like she knows somehow even though there’s no real way to be sure. It’s a gut feeling more than it is anything else. She’s thought it for a while. There’s a part of her that’s certain of it now. She nods. “ _She’s..._ glad you’re here.”

Callum breathes out. It’s still shaky, but it’s better than it was, and it fully leaves his lungs. He lowers himself to his knees and presses his ear to her belly, savouring the way his baby - his _daughter_ \- moves against his cheek. “Hey,” he whispers. “Hey there, baby girl. Daddy’s here now. Daddy missed you too.”

“You realize she’s kicking you in the face right now.”

 _That_ makes Callum laugh. It’s a nice sound - Rayla hadn’t realized she’d missed it as much as the rest of him. She smiles down at his head, her fingers fiddling with the hair behind his ears until his breath shudders again and she realizes he’s -

He’s _crying_ . His tears leave spots of wetness in the one dress that _isn’t_ soaked and, for a moment, Rayla doesn’t know what to do. Surely he’s not _still_ feeling guilty about the dagger, but he pulls her closer, his arms coming to rest around her waist and it hits her that it’s _more_ than that.

He’d missed her.

He’d missed his unborn daughter.

Most of all, he’d wanted to be with her for every moment of this.

Callum’s never been one to shy away from his emotions, but his weakness gnaws at her until there’s a lump in her throat and an ache in her chest. Rayla draws in a breath, ignorant of the way it shakes as she breathes it in, and smiles down at him, rueful and tired and relieved, all at once. “You’re here now,” she murmurs at last. “With us. And we’re all okay.”

“I know,” mutters Callum. “I just -”

“I know.” She chuckles at him, a little hoarse with emotion. When the tears do fall, she doesn’t stop them. “You’re _here_ ,” she says once more, weak and sniffling. “Gods, we - we _missed_ you _so much_ , and I don’t even know how - how to tell you or where to start -”

He chuckles too. “Look at us,” he whispers. “We’re a mess.”

“Just a bit, yeah.” Rayla sighs a little as he eases himself off her belly and returns to his feet. “We’re not doing that again, okay?”

“Never,” promises Callum, folding her back into his arms. “Never that long. Never again.” He presses his lips into her hair; lets her dry her tears against his shoulder and holds her to him until his own tears dry. “I’m just - I love you, Rayla. And I missed you, and our baby girl, and - ” He clears his throat. “I’m just glad to be _home._ ”

Rayla stifles a laugh into his shoulder. “So am I,” she whispers. “So am I.”

 

x

 

Soren, Claudia, and Rowena are gone longer than they said they would be - there’s a moment when Callum almost panics and considers going after them to make sure they're okay, but between that and leaving Rayla again - this time _on her own_ \- there’s not really a choice but to sit and wait and trust them to come back.

They spend the time talking. Callum tells her how things have been in the city (tense but not escalating, at the very least), and of how the summit had gone for the few hours he was there, and of how Ezran and Aunt Amaya were doing before he left. She frowns at all the irritating parts, laughs at his misery when he complains, and is appropriately curious when he mentions Ez’s growing relationship with the Queen of Duren, and in return, she tells him of what he’d missed while he’d been gone. 

“Nothing important,” she grumbles. “It was the same every day at the lodge. We were bored out of our minds. I’m almost glad Balan dropped by.”

“ _Please_ don’t even joke,” Callum whines. 

That only makes her smirk. “I think the boredom came closer to killing me than he did.”

_“Rayla.”_

But the afternoon wears on, and when the others _do_ come back just after sunset, they have an armful of fish and firewood with them, and Rowena visibly relaxes when she sees that everything’s been okay in her absence.

Later, as they settle in for the night, Claudia uses her _other_ mirror - the one paired to Ezran’s - to let him know they’re headed for the Nexus. His relief is palpable, even through the spikiness of his handwriting, she reads his messages out to them as they come.

 _“Thank the gods. I’ll send Aunt Amaya to meet you there. Pretty sure Rayla’s uncle said he’s coming too. Aanya sends her best._ ”

Callum and Rayla share a look. 

“My uncle?” she says, frowning quizzically. “Runaan’s coming?”

Claudia grimaces. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I should have mentioned it. But Ez couldn’t _not_ tell him - he’s kinda mad that we didn’t tell him when it first happened. In any case, if Balan’s been fooling around with dark magic, we need all the help we can get. I hope you’re not mad.”

“I’m not,” says Rayla, but she’s still frowning. “But... his arm…” 

A wave of guilt crosses her face, and for the first time in a while, Callum is reminded that that arm is gone because of them. Rayla probably only blames herself for it, but the real truth is that they all had a hand in it whether she wants to admit it or not. 

Callum grips her fingers. “He wouldn’t be coming if he wasn’t up to it, Rayla.”

“Yes, he _would_ .” She scowls. “ _I_ would. Where do you think _I_ got it from?”

From his corner of the cave, Soren snorts. “Yeah, no offense, but if your kid is as even half as stubborn as you, I’m never babysitting it.” He shakes his head and pulls the vial of Potenserum from his pocket. “If he needs it, he can have half. Okay?”

“Not really,” mutters Rayla, but she doesn’t argue the point. It’s not exactly a comfort - half each would be a hell of a gamble for Soren _and_ Runaan, and Callum’s pretty sure that the only thing that would _truly_ comfort Rayla right now is if somehow Balan got mauled by his own shadow wolves and Runaan didn’t have to worry at all - but he’s going to turn up whether they want him to or not, and Soren’s offer is better than nothing.

Soren snorts. “‘ _Thanks Soren’,_ ” he mocks, his voice annoyingly high and terribly accented. “‘ _You’re so generous. We’re gonna name our next child after you.’_ ”

“No, we’re not,” says Rayla sharply, but her lips quirk upwards, just a little. “But thank you.”

 

x

 

The rest of the trip is slow, but it’s uneventful. There are no shadow wolves, and no indications of being tracked by dark magic - not even a banther to slow their progress. It’s almost _too_ easy, but then, Callum’s not about to complain. The easier the trip, the safer it is for Rayla, and at thirty-one and a half weeks along now, they can’t afford for it not to be.

Things are getting a little too close for comfort. The tendency of halfling babies to come early weighs heavily on all their minds - so heavily that Rowena ducks into the village halfway up the mountain to top up her stash of herbs and medicinal supplies out of the concern that Rayla might go into labour by the end of the month.

It’s a terrifying thought.

When they reach the top of the mountain at long, _long_ last, Lujanne is waiting for them and frowning at their little entourage. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate your company, Your Highnesses, but I see you’ve brought some friends.” She eyes Soren and Claudia uneasily, and too late, Callum remembers that the last time they were here was four years ago, when _they_ were the ones trying to kill Rayla in an effort to bring him and Ez home.

“They _are_ our friends,” says Rayla firmly, allowing Callum to help her off Kuritsa. “I’m sorry we couldn’t warn you that we were coming again so soon, but we need somewhere safe to stay. We were hoping…” She trails off uncertainly - like she’s suddenly realized how rude it is to turn up on someone’s doorstep unannounced and looking for somewhere to hide. 

But Lujanne’s features soften, and her eyes flit to Rayla’s belly, the swell obvious even under the fabric of Callum’s cloak. “How far along are you now?”

 _Now_ , she asks, like she’d known when they first came to visit before the wedding. In all fairness, she probably had. Lujanne is sharper than she pretends to be. Her wisdom might leave a lot to be desired, but she’s certainly perceptive, and it’s hard to be surprised. 

“Almost thirty-two weeks,” says Rayla, ducking her gaze.

But Lujanne only smiles. “Come on, then,” she says, beckoning them forwards. “I’m sure you’ll have an explanation for me over dinner but it’s not so polite to leave a pregnant Princess without someplace to have her baby. Let’s get all of you warmed up.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “With all due respect, Your Highness, _what the actual fu-”_

xxi.

 

In spite of her generally errant wisdom, Lujanne passes no judgement on their story - at least none that would show on her face. Guarding the Moon Nexus makes keeping up to date difficult, and except for few visitors she’s had since Rayla’s last visit - other Moonshadow elves, mostly - those wanting to reclaim the Nexus as she had - she’s heard nothing of trouble in the capital, and of the trouble with Balan.

She listens carefully. Looks verifiably disgusted that someone would attempt to assassinate a pregnant woman and properly horrified when they (reluctantly) tell her how close Rayla came to losing the baby. She seems less distrustful of Soren and Claudia by the end of it, and when she turns to face Rowena, it’s not distrust that crosses her face so much as it is hesitance.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer someone… more familiar with elves to deliver the child?”

Rowena scowls at her, but Rayla interjects sharply before an argument erupts at the table in her defence.

“I don’t know anyone who’s had more experience with halfling pregnancies,” she snaps. “Do you?”

Lujanne presses her lips shut at that. She means well, Rayla thinks, and from a certain standpoint, she can understand - healthcare in Xadia is generally more advanced, and it’s only recently that humans have had the chance to learn from elves - but Rowena’s actions and professionalism have literally saved her child’s life already, and maybe it’s a combination of hormones and emotional attachment, or maybe it’s because she’s been dealing with it for too long, but Rayla no longer has the patience for thinly veiled digs at humans from elves and vice versa.

She gives Lujanne a _look_ \- not quite a glower, but bordering on one all the same. It’s a challenge. An unspoken dare to object.

Lujanne doesn’t. Instead, she tilts her head at them, curious. “So what do you intend to do, then? You can stay here as long as you need. You can have the baby here, if you want. But what, exactly, is the plan from here?”

Callum catches Rayla’s eye. A grimace forms on his lips. “My aunt will rendezvous with us up here,” he tells her. “We can regroup. Come up with a strategy. For now - if it’s all right with you, that is - we want to keep Rayla here until we get this guy.”

“Actually -” Rayla pauses, wincing a little as her womb spasms - a not so gentle reminder of how close things are getting. It passes after a moment. “I have - something like a plan.” Her voice lilts upwards at the word ‘plan’ - like it's less of a plan and closer to a stab in the dark because - well. It is. She’s no stranger to stupid ideas - she’s married to _Callum_ \- but this probably tops them all. It’s something she’d come up with at the Banther Lodge when they’d found the rune within the sheath of that dagger and when everyone turns to stare at her, she reaches for her pack and pulls it out of the front pocket.

Callum’s breath hitches and a scowl crosses his face. “ _Why_ do you still have that?”

Rayla presses her lips together. The dark magic rune is still there, its ominous glow hard to even look at, but there are other runes on it now - smaller, brighter ones that circle the first to negate its power.

Claudia’s always been a talented mage, but she’s better at Moon magic than Rayla ever thought she’d be. She’d picked it up quickly enough, and Ailas’ book of spells had certainly helped, but some of the things she’s conjured have looked as real as Lujanne’s, and those hounds she’d summoned to fend off Balan’s wolves had done their job until her exhaustion caught up with her. The runes she’d written into the sheath are just the same - simple, effective, and holding strong, even now. She pushes her chair back as Rayla drops the sheath onto the centre of the table.

Lujanne picks at it, frowning at the runes. “A cloaking spell,” she says, her eyes darting to Claudia and back as she turns the leather over in her hands. “A strong one, at that. I’m impressed. This is how you got away, is it?”

“More or less,” mutters Claudia. “It’s how he can’t find us, anyway.”

Rayla sucks in a breath. She glances at Callum, and the way his shoulders are tensed at the very sight of it; at Claudia and at Soren who look varying shades of uneasy, and at Rowena who looks downright afraid. She sets her jaw. “Balan’s not that clever,” she starts carefully, steeling herself for the reaction that will follow. “The only thing he’s had that we haven’t is time to think, and now that we know that it’s him, we have that too. His primary goal is to find me. I think we should let him.”

There's a beat. And then -

“Are you crazy?”

“Have you gone _insane_?”

“You _want_ him to find you?”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,  _what the actual fu-_ ”

Rayla holds up her hands. Their collective outrage is strangely comforting - they’ve been run off their feet trying to protect her for months, and still, after all they’ve been through - after all the trouble it’s been - they’re adamant to keep her and her baby safe. It’s sweet, and she’s grateful to them for it but she wouldn’t need it under literally any other circumstance. “I’m sick of hiding,” she says, her voice firm, a hint of frustration in the way it cracks. “I’m done running away from him. This ends _now_ , and this might be our one chance to draw him out into the open.”

“By using yourself as _bait_ ?” snaps Callum. He’s furious at her for even suggesting it and Rayla can see it like it’s stamped across his face. “Rayla - what makes you think _any_ of us would agree to this? What makes you think _I_ would? You’re _carrying our child_ and you want to _him_ to find _you?”_

“If he’s busy looking for me, he can’t keep causing trouble in the city,” says Rayla shortly. “That’s where we’re at now, isn’t it? He wants elves out of the Human Kingdoms and he’s provoking them into violence to do it. What do you think is going to happen here? If we give him time to get back to the capital, he’s going to try and force us back by causing trouble we can’t ignore. We have to draw him out _now._ ”

“This is stupid, _especially_ for you,” says Soren, scowling. “What happened to playing _smart_? What was even the point of us keeping you safe if you’re just going to pull something like this?”

“ _I_ am not what matters here,” snarls Rayla. “You keep me safe, _fine_ , but how’s _that_ going to work for you when there are riots in the streets? That’s not any _safer_ , Soren, and I am _not_ going to have this child in a world where people like _Balan_ want it dead for what it is.”

Claudia lets out a sigh, clearly displeased, but she squares her shoulders and tugs the boys back. “How would this even work?” she asks Rayla. “And I’m not saying I’m going along with it,” she adds quickly, when Callum rounds on her. “But - _how_ ? What, _exactly_ , do you intend to do?”

Rayla makes a face, hesitant because the rest of this plan sounds even worse. “Break the cloaking spell,” she says. “It’ll tell him exactly where we are again, and he’ll come to us instead of us looking for him. He’ll come here, where all of you will be waiting for him.”

“He’s not _that_ stupid, Rayla,” snarls Callum. “He’ll know it’s a trap.”

“He’ll also know I’m vulnerable,” she snaps back. “Why do you think he waited so long when he knew, the whole time, that we were at the lodge? He wanted _you_ out of the way, and he wanted me too far along to be even remotely mobile. With all of you here, he’s only got one chance left. He’s not going to waste it.”

“When would that be, exactly?” demands Soren.

“You know exactly when.” Rayla gives them all a _look_ , but it’s Rowena who translates for them.

Her face is pale and her voice is hoarse, and the words that leave her mouth almost sets Callum, and Claudia, and Soren into another explosion of outrage. “You want to provoke him into coming here when you go into labour.”

Another beat. And then -

_“Are you crazy?”_

“You're insane. _This_ is insane.”

“No.” That’s Callum. His face is hard and angry, his hands balled into fists at his side. “No. _No_ and that’s _final_. I’m not letting you do this.”

Rayla clucks her tongue, unimpressed by his gall. “Oh, like I’ve ever needed _your_ permission.”

“I’m not discussing this.”

“Have you got a better plan then?”

“ _Anything_ is better than this!” snarls Callum. “We’re done talking about this, Rayla.”

“We don’t have a _choice_ , Callum, this is our only chance to get the upper hand -”

“ _No!_ ” Callum slams a hand against the table, the resounding thud so heavy that Rayla’s words die on her tongue. He doesn’t look at her, and when he gets up, he gets up so quickly that his chair tips over behind him. “We’re _done_ talking about this.”

“Callum -”

“ _Enough_ , Rayla.”

“ _No_ ,” snarls Rayla. She gets up too, wincing as she goes, but she stands her ground and glares at her husband, her hands set protectively over her bump. The others stare at them, a mix of wordless and terrified, but she doesn’t look at them. She only scowls at him. “This stops now. He has to go. I can’t have this child while he’s out there, Callum.”

“AND I CAN’T LOSE _YOU_ TO _HIM_ !” roars Callum. His outburst echoes in the silence and Rayla falters, his fury ringing in her ears. His breath falls heavily through bared teeth, and when he finally, _finally_ looks at her, the anguish on his face breaks her heart. “I can’t -” he whispers. “I _won’t_ -”

Rayla swallows, a lump forming in her throat. “Callum -”

“No,” he manages. “I need - I need a minute.”

He turns. Kicks his upturned chair out of the way.

He doesn’t look back.

 

x

 

She finds him later, sulking on a bench a little way away with his head in his hands and the end of his scarf pressed into his eyes. Rayla can’t really blame him - it really is the stupidest plan she’s ever come up with, and it’s so, _so_ dangerous that she’d have been surprised if he _hadn’t_ put up a fight. Callum has every reason to be angry at her for it but it had occurred to her far too late in their argument that he’s just as mad at himself.

He still feels guilty about letting that dagger come into her hands.

He’s still furious at himself for being so far away when she needed him most.

She’s always been the protector in their relationship. She’s always been the more physically capable, and for years it’d been her protecting him and very rarely the other way around. Now that she doesn’t have a choice but to allow herself to _be_ protected for once, all he’s wanted to do is keep her safe, and instead, they’d almost lost the baby, and _he’d given her_ the thing that brought Balan and his men to her for a second attempt at her life.

The truth is that it’s _not_ his fault. Neither of those things were the result of his _failure_ to protect her, but to him, that must be exactly how it feels. She’d feel the same, if it were her. The very thought of it makes her heart ache.

Rayla lets out a sigh, and she climbs onto the bench next to him and rests her head against his shoulder.

He doesn’t stop her, but he doesn’t say anything either. He only shudders, and Rayla tugs his hands from his face, laces her fingers with his, and presses a kiss into the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

Callum says nothing for a while. Rayla almost considers letting him be for longer, but in the end, he squeezes her fingers back and sighs as well. “I’m sorry too,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to yell. I was just…”

“Scared?” Rayla scoffs. “Me too,” she tells him. “I have been since we found out, remember? Of… motherhood and all that it implies. But I’m more scared of him, Callum. He won’t stop. He never will. At least if it’s me, I can fight back, you know? Our daughter… can’t do that. And there’ll be a time when - when she’ll wander off or something and we won’t be able to protect her and he’ll -” She swallows, afraid to finish the sentence. “We have to stop him. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” mutters Callum, gripping her hand tighter. “I just - I can’t lose you, you know? I can’t even - the thought of it -”

“I get it.” She shifts, prying his hand out of hers so she can drape it around his shoulders instead. “You won’t,” she promises. “When we - when we left the Banther Lodge, I had Claudia project an image of me to him to buy us time. We can do that again. Lujanne’s here too, and she’ll help, I’m sure of it. We’ll - we can hide in the village or something - fool him into believing I’m here when I’m not. He doesn’t even have his men anymore, and if you’re here, and you’re waiting with General Amaya and Runaan and Soren…”

“We can get him once and for all.” The words come out barely louder than a whisper, but there’s fire in them all the same. Callum swallows, still afraid, but the hope that they might end this is stronger. His hands drift to her belly, and he holds them there, letting the thought of meeting his future daughter strengthen his resolve. “We’re gonna get him,” he says at last. “Just for you. So you can grow up safe and happy and unafraid. You’ll get to play hide and seek with Bait, and you’ll get to meet Zym, and learn magic with me, and how to keep yourself safe with mum. He’s never going to come anywhere near you. I promise.”

Rayla grimaces as the baby shifts, but she smiles anyway and presses her lips against the crown of Callum’s head. “She’ll hold you to that.”

 

x

 

They get a similar reaction from Runaan when he arrives at the Nexus a couple of days later.

He looks harried and tired when he appears under the worn stone gates and understandably so - he’s travelled a long way. Rayla meets him there, half waddling along the path with one hand rubbing at the small of her back, and the other bracing her still growing bump. He drops his things the moment he sees her - his bow clattering against the stones, his pack with a heavy _fwump_ \- and the next thing Rayla knows is his arms as he envelops her as gently as possible.

“You’re so much bigger than last time,” he breathes, touching her belly.

“Thanks, I think,” snorts Rayla. “She’s… stubborn. A little like you, honestly.”

Runaan’s lips twitch a little. “I think you mean yourself,” he teases. “She?”

“It’s just a feeling. I might still be wrong but… I really think so.”

That’s the smoothest it goes. Rayla tries to help him with his things only to be scolded for it, and then scolded again for not telling him sooner that someone tried to have her killed. She only rolls her eyes at his admonishments, but when she brings him up to date on what’s been happening, and on what she intends to do, his face twists into a scowl so severe, she wonders if she’s about to be grounded.

“You want to do _what?_ ”

“It’ll be fine,” she promises quickly. “We have three extremely talented Moon Mages here - we just want to fool him into thinking I’m here to give Callum and the others time to get him. I won’t be here for it. It’s fine.”

He rounds on Callum. “You’re _letting_ her do this?”

Callum grimaces at him, his shoulders rising in a half shrug. “ _You_ try talking her down,” he says weakly. “And… she’s right. If we don’t do this, he’ll force our hand by provoking riots in the capital. If we do… at least we know he’ll wait until…”

“Until _when_?”

Callum shakes his head, his lips shut tight because he knows it’s ridiculous and dangerous and the stupidest thing Rayla’s ever come up with in her life, and because he’s not entirely keen to endure Runaan’s wrath. “Until - until she goes into labour?”

Runaan rounds on Rayla, muttering a string of curses so vile that Rayla feels like she should cover her ears on behalf of her unborn child’s. “ _What in the name of the bloody Moon are you trying to pull?_ ” he snarls. “You’re putting yourself and your child in danger, and for _what_?”

“For the sake of every other elf in the Human Kingdoms, perhaps?” she answers, her voice chilly. “He’s going to start a civil war, Runaan. It’s this or everything we’ve ever worked for will be for nothing.”

“I can’t agree to this.”

“It’s not your decision to make.” Rayla glowers at him, her patience wearing thin. “We have to end this, and we have to do it _now._ I’m not letting my _daughter_ grow up in a world with that bastard in it.”

Runaan has nothing to say to that.

 

x

 

General Amaya, Commander Gren, and a small team of troops arrive at the tail end of Rayla's thirty-second week. She doesn’t look at all pleased about this plan either, but she glances between her and Callum, her eyes hard, and doesn’t argue.

It’s a relief, thinks Rayla. She’s tired of explaining the logic, and the more she has to do so, the less logic she sees in it herself. All Amaya does sign is _I hope you know what you’re doing,_ which does little to alleviate the growing anxiety in Rayla’s stomach because, when it comes down to it, she _doesn’t._

There’s every chance Balan is already in the capital sowing more dissent and more unrest until there’s a mob threatening to break down Ezran’s door. There’s every chance he’ll do it anyway, even if they reactivate his rune. There’s even a chance that he won’t come at all, and he’ll wait until after the baby’s born, and attack then.

Failure is a very _real_ option here and literally the only thing that makes Rayla want to stick with it is the thought of her daughter growing up while Balan’s still alive.

So they let Amaya set up a guard at the entrance to the Nexus.

They ask Lujanne to double her illusions along the mountain.

Callum, Soren, Claudia, and Runaan agree to guard Rayla personally in turns, and when everything is settled on, Rayla swallows and hands Claudia the broken sheath.

“Do it,” she says. “Let him come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there team!!!!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All there is left to do is wait.

xxii.

  
  


“It’s a trap, obviously.”

“ _ Really? _ ” drawls Balan. “I never would have guessed.” He snorts into his tankard and drinks deeply from it, the ale bitter in his throat. This tavern is becoming an old haunt. It’s empty tonight - the Common Folk who frequent it have all gone home and the barman had retired hours ago, afraid to ask him to leave, and too tired to wait for him to. For now, it’s him, his books and his maps spread out over the table, and the castle guard, come to warn him that Ezran’s men have doubled their efforts to find him.

It’s been two weeks since his return. There’s been no trace of the Prince and his slut of a wife. The castle gates are shut, and even the scullery maids who work there are tight-lipped and quiet. No one’s seen Callum and his elven Princess. No one’s heard from them. No one knows where they are. ‘

Unsurprising, Balan had thought at first. Halfling babies come early, and if he’s done his math correctly, the elf will go into labour within the month. Callum’s first and only priority after the attack at the Banther Lodge would have been to find somewhere  _ safe _ \- somewhere  _ he _ can’t follow and strike her down when she’s at her most vulnerable. He’d done well, Balan supposes. It’s admirable, really, the lengths he’d go to for his wife and that abomination of a child she’s carrying, but they should know better than to think they can hide when he has uninhibited access to their city and its people but this -

This is clever, even for them.

He’s been frowning at his map for hours now. He’d studied it for days after they disappeared across the Sannigan, tracing lines and routes with his fingers and trying to track them down himself. When he found nothing, he’d readied a move to draw them out - one they’d hear of wherever they might be hiding that would destroy them to ignore - 

But now the little blip is  _ back _ , a tiny spot of colour on the yellowing parchment of his map of Katolis, bright and eager for his attention.

At first, Balan had blinked at it, certain that he’d just been staring for too long. Perhaps his mind had finally caught up with his age and he was going senile at last, but it’s  _ there _ and it’s  _ real _ , beckoning to him like light in a tunnel. 

Had the mage girl’s magic failed?  Did they  _ know  _ that he was privy to their location once more? Could they really have made it  _ that  _ easy?

He’d wanted to laugh when the thought crossed his mind. Of course they had. Of course they  _ knew _ \- they’d probably planned it to the letter. This is a taunt. A dare. An unspoken  _ “Come and get me,” _ designed to bait him into attacking while the Prince, that mage girl, and that ex-soldier boy are all waiting for him. An interesting move, but a poorly thought out one all the same.

He taps the coloured dot on the map with the bottom of his tankard. “I’m heading off in the morning,” he tells the guard mildly, like it’s an errand - like a hunting trip for something he’s been tracking for months. From a certain standpoint, it is. “Will you be coming this time, or will you be hiding in the castle again?”

The guard scowls at him. “Considering everyone you’ve paid for this blasted mission of yours is  _ dead _ , ‘hiding in the castle’ feels like the smarter choice.”

“So no, then?”

“So this is  _ foolish _ , then,” snaps the guard. “You’ve seen what the Prince can do. You  _ know _ what he’s capable of. Your magic won’t stand a chance against an archmage as powerful as him.”

“Cowardice is unbecoming.”

“So is  _ dying. _ ” The guard shuffles uneasily, the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet loud in the empty silence of the tavern. He takes a breath. “You need to stop this. They won’t forgive you for what you’ve done already. They will  _ hang  _ you for treason if Prince Callum doesn’t get to you first. I don’t believe this is worth your  _ life _ , General.”

Balan snorts at him. “What’s worth what is my decision to make,” he says crisply. 

“Then I want no part of it.”

“A pity.” Balan’s tone is dry as he swills the remaining ale around in his tankard and sets it on the table. “However  _ will  _ I manage?”

The guard scowls. “I’m  _ trying _ to  _ help you _ ,” he hisses. “His Majesty’s forces will stop at nothing to track you down, and if they don’t find you, Prince Callum  _ will _ once his wife has had the baby. There’s no hiding from them now. Neolandia might give you refuge, but you _ have _ to stop this  _ now. _ ”

“I’ll  _ stop _ when that whore is  _ dead, _ ” snarls Balan. He’s on his feet all of a sudden, his tankard thudding heavily against the floorboards when he knocks it off the table in his anger. The reaction surprises even him, his fury like ice in his veins, and when the guard shrinks back, grey eyes wide with fear, Balan finds his frustration entirely renewed. “Pathetic,” he snaps. “You’re nothing but a coward. Get out.”

“But - General -” The guard falters. “I am loyal to  _ you. _ I’m trying to keep you  _ alive. _ ”

“ _ Get. Out.”  _ He jabs a finger at the door, irritated and impatient and  _ angry _ for reasons even he doesn’t really understand. Perhaps it’s the guard’s gall - his defiance of him under the guise of wanting to help - or maybe he’s just tired of playing the long game. Either way, he no longer has the patience to deal with this, and he stares the guard down until his shoulders slump, and until he turns on his heel and leaves without another word. 

Balan waits until the tavern door shuts behind him before he reaches into his pack for a candle and clay pot of ash. He lights it deftly, a pinch of the ash already in his fingers, and not for the first time, he finds himself marvelling at the ingenuity of dark magic. 

_ “Eris, wodahs fo htaed,”  _ he mutters, sprinkling the pinch into the flame.

He feels the power flow out of him with his breath, draining his lungs and his energy, his vision blurring just a little as a wolf materialises on the tavern floor. Its hulking shoulders are still and unbreathing as it waits for his instruction, its eyes glowing purple and eerie in the poor light.

Balan takes in a breath - lets it fill his lungs once more, his fingers against his temples to massage the ache away as his vision clears. “Find him,” he tells the wolf. “Kill him. He’ll be more useful in death.”

 

x

 

Almost a year and a half ago, Balan was dismissed from the Katolan Council at a hearing. He’d been humiliated, beforehand, in front of an audience of elven and human dignitaries; imprisoned in the castle dungeons for a week like a common criminal; and when he was summoned to Ezran’s throne room at the end of it all, he’d been given only a moment to justify his actions before he was stripped him of his command and his titles and Ezran ordered him to leave.

There was no trial. No appeal. No  _ justice _ in His Majesty’s actions, and he’d left the castle disgraced and furious with nowhere to go but to his empty house on the outskirts of town. 

In His Majesty’s employ, Balan had spent almost all of his time in his quarters at the castle. There was never any reason to go home, and even now, he despises the cold and the emptiness of it. It holds too many memories - houses too many thoughts of the son he’d lost at the hands of elves at the Breach, and of the wife who’d died shortly afterwards in her grief. He’d been a poor husband and father, he’ll admit that much - he was never home, even then, and at times, his ambition felt more important. 

He’d come from nothing, and he was a low general at the time. He wanted more than this.

He wanted more for  _ them. _

It made sense to him then, to send Lennart to Amaya when he turned sixteen. It was an appropriate career choice for the son of a general, even a lowly one - more appropriate than Lennart’s dream to be a baker, certainly, and any success he had would reflect well on their family.

Alys had begged him not to do it. Lennart was needed at home. He would be  _ happier  _ at home. Neither of them cared less about where their family stood, as long as they were  _ home _ , and  _ together.  _

Their indolence irked him. How could someone not want  _ more? _ How could someone be so  _ satisfied _ with so  _ little? _

They were wrong.

They were  _ weak _ .

And Balan sent Lennart to the Breach anyway, against his wife’s wishes - against his  _ son’s _ wishes - and when Lennart fell, there was no one for Alys to blame but him.

It wasn’t his fault, he’d reasoned to himself. He hadn’t put that sword through Lennart’s back. He hadn’t given the order to raid that outpost. He’d sent hundreds of men to the Breach, and most of them came back. How could he be responsible for the death of his son? How could wanting  _ more _ for his family be the reason Lennart was gone forever?

No, the only ones to blame here were the elves who slaughtered him. They’d committed the act. They’d  _ murdered _ his son, and no number of men he sent to the Breach - no number of elves they felled would bring Lennart back. He threw himself into his work then, unable to deal with Alys’ grief - unable to bear her resentment of him - and when she died, he hardly felt remorse.

She’d  _ hated _ him towards the end. The very few times he went home, he was greeted with cold glares and pent up rage, and on top of it, he was angry too. Lennart’s death  _ wasn’t his fault _ , and he only wanted what was  _ best _ for them - it was unfair and uncalled for to blame him for it - but that wasn’t how Alys saw it, and that wasn’t how she saw him.

He wasn’t welcome at her funeral. Her family blamed him for it all too.

He sunk into himself. He could feel himself becoming more and more bitter by the year, his resentment of elves growing with every visit to that wretched house. 

Then the war ended.

Prince Callum brought home that whore.

They were to address her as  _ Lady _ Rayla, or Her Ladyship - like she deserved the title. Like she was worth more than even a moment of their time. Like  _ her people _ weren’t the same cold-blooded monsters who murdered Lennart and countless others. 

Three years into this supposed  _ peace _ , the rumours started. Callum was to marry  _ her _ \- an  _ elf _ with no noble background or social standing in a show of unity. They would have to start addressing her as  _ Princess _ . Any halfling children she might produce would have claims to the  _ Katolan throne,  _ and Ezran had plans to open their borders to Xadia, allowing the uninhibited travel of elves into the Human Kingdoms. 

There’d be monsters -  _ murderers _ \- in their very city, and Ezran and Callum  _ welcomed  _ it.

He’d been weak then, when his only thought had been to rid the city of her. The other Kingdoms would never have accepted it. Katolis would be ridiculed and mocked for a young king’s naivety. But then Ezran dismissed him, stripped him of his hard earned title, and the status and authority that came with it - and in defence of that  _ slut _ to boot.

To say he was angry was an understatement. His title and position -  _ gone _ . His family -  _ gone.  _ Anything and everything he ever cared about -  _ gone _ , because of  _ elves -  _

And everyday there’s more of them, and his own people are growing to accept their presence in his city. 

The idea disgusted him.

It disgusts him still.

 

x

 

The one thing that Ezran  _ hadn’t _ stripped from him was his pension, and it was under the condition that he was never seen in the castle again. Balan’s grateful for that, he supposes - it means he can spend most of his day outside of that house, and it means he can hole up in this tavern everyday until he has no choice but to go home and bear the ghosts of his long-dead wife and son. This plan of his had hatched here, in this very booth.

He’d been drinking then. He usually was - the haze of alcohol had made it easier to deal with - well, everything - and when he thinks about it now, he doesn’t actually know exactly  _ when _ he’d decided to take the idea seriously. 

He was drunk. It was stupid. He had nothing to his name but that house and enough money from his pension to get by on a week-by-week basis, and it seemed impossible - but he still despised that whore and everything she stood for, and more than anything that day, he wished she was  _ dead. _

She and Callum were still only engaged then. It was all the city could talk about for a while, and every word of it made him shudder with disgust. Using magic to get what he wanted hadn’t even occurred to him -

Until he was wandering the black market days later and found a book.

It was old. The pages were torn and yellowing, the leather binding so worn that the symbol on the front was almost entirely gone - but he’d seen it before, on Lord Viren’s things, and on other books that mage girl used to carry around with her.

“Interested?” the stallkeeper asked, following his eyes. “I found it in Neolandia. It’s not so looked down upon there. Still illegal, but you’d only be fined for it. Here, it’s risky to even  _ own _ a book of dark magic.”

Balan had frowned, running his hand over the leather and across the tattered edges of the pages within it. “What can you do with it?”

The stallkeeper had smirked at him. “Whatever you want. It’s easy enough to learn. All you need is the right…  _ ingredients _ .”

More curious than anything else, Balan had shrugged and bought it without thinking too much about it. He’d leafed through it that night in the tavern, more sober than he had been in months. He’d found tracking spells in it, and shield spells, and incantations for strength; elemental spells, and remedial spells - even rituals to bring conjure the ashes of the dead into living weapons to do his bidding.

He’d started small. Lights in his home. Warmth in the winter months. A cold breeze in the summer. The power it filled him with was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and it occurred to him, far too late, that perhaps  _ this _ was the sort of power he should have been chasing all those years ago.

 Status felt like small change compared to this - raw, unbridled magic was something else entirely, and it could bring him more wealth and more power than even being the Head of the Katolan Army could ever afford. It was taxing, yes - but the exhilaration was… addictive. 

The idle thought became less of a joke, and more of a genuine  _ what if? _ What  _ if _ their elven Princess was suddenly murdered in her bed? What  _ if _ it came on the heels of civil unrest? What  _ if _ a civil war broke out? Would Ezran keep the gates to the Kingdom open then?

When the Prince and his whore returned for their wedding, the concept of  _ what if _ became realer in his head.

Then they saw a midwife.

Balan had almost laughed when the news came to him.

_ What if? _

 

x

 

He rides for the village of Eira in the morning. It takes a him two or three days on horseback at most, and it’s very much a small town. It’s halfway up a mountain, its townspeople rural and not so educated, and the village itself is closer to the Breach than most, but they don’t look twice at him, even with his saddlebag of magical ingredients. The top of the mountain is, apparently, named the Cursed Caldera because of the terrifying creatures that wander its slopes, but, quietly, Balan wonders if there’s something else to it. His map is pretty determined in its claim that the elf is up there, and he’s learned to stop doubting his magical ability now that he can see what he can do. 

It’s so easy. He’s been experimenting with dark magic now for only a few months, and the progress he’s made is astounding. He sends shadow ravens up the mountain for reconnaissance, watches through their beady purple eyes and finds himself delighted to see the elf in such a delicate condition.

She waddles gracelessly when she moves, her steps awkward and lumbering as she tries to do certain things herself. Her companions dote on her, and while he despises Callum almost as much, he treats her with the love and care he should have given Alys and Lennart all those years ago.

But it’s not his fault they’re dead, he reminds himself. The elves killed Lennart. Alys had died of grief.

It’s  _ not his fault. _

He focuses his attention on the elf. All there is left to do is wait.

 

x

 

“He’s here,” Claudia says one day. 

Rayla’s halfway into her thirty-third week now, and spends her days pacing to ease the churning in her stomach and to breathe as her contractions begin to grow more regular. She stops in her tracks and swallows, eyeing Claudia uncertainly as she stares up at the sky with a crease over her brow. “How do you know?”

“Don’t look,” says Claudia, “but there have been shadow ravens flying past for a couple of days now. He’s… watching. Waiting, I think, until he knows you’ve gone into labour.” She grimaces, her lips pulling downwards with fear. “Rayla, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“In perfect honesty, neither do I,” Rayla admits. “But this is all we’ve got left. This baby’s not going to grow up afraid of him. We have to end this  _ now. _ ”

“I know,” says Claudia. “I’m just… scared.”

Rayla lets out a mirthless snort. “So am I.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hear you guys wanted to see Balan be an actual human being, so here's his back story, I guess. It didn't feel right to not resolve his past issues, and the story wanted it so story gets what story wants bc I'm not in control here. In any case, a bunch of people on Discord wanted it (y'all know who you are), so if this came out a bit dumb, I'm blaming them hahaha
> 
> Sorry for the delay! Really not understanding how you people live working 9-5 everyday! I can't believe how much I miss the night shift!!!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t even start,” she grumbles. “I know he’s coming just as well as all of you do, but pretending he’s not by avoiding the subject altogether isn’t helping.”

xxiii.

  
  
  


Rayla’s thirty-third week finds her pacing around the Nexus, restless and agitated and muttering to herself about how she’s sick of being huge and uncomfortable. It’s pretty understandable - she can’t move any faster than a brisk waddle, and for someone so used to being so much more active, Callum can see why she’s so annoyed. The Balan thing isn’t exactly helpful either because that’s what she’s doing, essentially - she’s waiting for him to appear, knowing that he will at the worst moment imaginable; knowing that she’ll be helpless when he _does_ , and probably hating her plan a little bit more every day.

It can’t be good for her _or_ the baby, but Callum is hesitant to approach her anyway. She knows what’s at stake. She knows it all better than he does. She doesn’t need _him_ to tell her to calm down.

“She’s just hormonal,” Soren says, waving him off dismissively, but Callum scowls at him.

“She’s _pregnant_ ,” he says sharply. “She has every reason to be _and more._ ”

“Whoa - hold on - I didn’t mean it like _that_ \- I just -”

“Guys.” That’s Claudia and she holds her hands up between them, her lips twitching upwards in an exasperated smile. “It’s totally understandable. We get it. What do you want us to do?”

Callum breathes out a sigh. “Just - I dunno - distract her, I guess. From all of this. She shouldn’t have to be any more stressed about this than she already is - it’s probably not good for her.”

“It’s not,” pipes Rowena with a grimace. “She shouldn’t be on her feet so much either, but short of asking her to spend the next three or so weeks in bed - which she won’t - there’s not a lot we can do.”

“Well, what _can_ we do, then?” asks Soren. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, his impatience clear on his face. “We obviously can’t _let_ her keep mulling this over, but she’s not exactly making it easy for the rest of us to keep her safe and healthy. I don’t envy you _at all_.” He smirks at Callum.

Callum only rolls his eyes. “Just - help her think about other things. Keep her mind off Balan. I’ll mention it to Aunt Amaya and Runaan too, but Balan is _our_ job, remember? All she should have to worry about right now is herself and the baby. We can do that for her, at the very least. Right?”

“Keep her mind off Balan,” says Claudia, nodding. “We can do that. How hard could it be?”

 

5.

 

They’ve had a talk about her and Rayla knows it. She’s not stupid. They’re worried about her, which she gets, and they think her plan is stupid, which it is, and in all fairness, their concern isn’t unwarranted, but it’s not helping either. 

She’s been through a lot over the last few months. 

Her baby is due in two to three weeks. 

There’s a madman out there who wants her _dead_ and, so far, has stopped at nothing to do it.

She has enough on her mind without them fretting over her, and maybe Callum’s noticed that she’s bothered by it, or maybe it’s his way of trying to deal with his own stress and feelings, but they’ve had a _talk_ about her and it becomes abundantly clear that they have when _General Amaya,_ of all people, sits her down that afternoon _without Callum_ to ask if she can feel the baby.

 _Am I not allowed to dote over my soon-to-be grand-niece or nephew?_ She signs when Rayla blinks at her, obviously surprised by the request.

 _You’re allowed,_ signs Rayla, recovering quickly. _I just… didn’t expect it from you, I guess._

 _I can understand why._ Amaya chuckles at her. _I’m not really the maternal type, am I? I certainly never intended to have them myself, but I don’t dislike children. Callum made sure of that when he came into the world._

 _He is a…_ Rayla pauses, unsure of the sign. She spells it in the end. _He’s a s-w-e-e-t-h-e-a-r-t._

Amaya’s lips twitch, and she signs the word for her, a fond sort of amusement in her eyes. _I didn’t think I’d ever have a halfling grand-niece or nephew,_ she comments mildly. 

Rayla snorts. _We considered naming it after you, you know,_ she signs. 

 _Oh?_ A bemused sort of flattery crosses Amaya’s face.

 _Callum’s idea,_ signs Rayla. _I think it was supposed to be a joke at first, but it was after he spent weeks coming up with stupid names and it was the first one neither of us hated. We’re… not going with it after all, if that’s all right with you. I had a better one anyway._

 _A better one than Amaya?_ signs Amaya, smirking. 

Rayla stifles a chuckle, but her fingers tremble anyway as she spells her little Moonbeam’s name. _Sarai._

Amaya’s smirk falls. She blinks. For a moment, she stares, her lips parted like she doesn’t quite believe it, but Rayla offers her a nervous sort of smile and signs it again, her hands steadier and more deliberate this time, so that Amaya knows there’s no mistake.

 _Sarai,_ she tells her. _Is… that okay?_

When Amaya’s lips twitch again, they tilt upwards into a smile. A real one - one that crinkles the corners of her eyes as signs her response. 

_It’s perfect. Better than mine, for sure._

_I’m glad,_ chuckles Rayla. She holds her hands out for Amaya’s, her fingers gentle against hers as she places them against the bump. The baby shifts under her touch, and Amaya’s smile grows wider still, a spark of excitement in the hazel of her eyes. _I know what this is,_ signs Rayla after a moment. _I know Callum spoke to everyone._

 _He did,_ Amaya tells her, pulling back just enough to sign her response. _He wants you to relax. We all do._

Rayla raises an eyebrow at her, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. _You as well, General?_

Amaya snorts. She pulls back once more, but her grin stays fixed. Rayla thinks, for a moment, that she might sign something witty, or sarcastic, but there’s honesty in the way her hands move. _Aunt,_ she corrects. When she spots the flash of confusion on Rayla’s face, her smile becomes… almost nervous, and too late, Rayla realizes that it’s because this is uncharted territory for them.

As much as she knows that General Amaya doesn’t disapprove of her relationship with Callum anymore, there’s always been a sort of distance between them. Mostly it’s Rayla, afraid to overstep or to assume there’s more than a tentative friendship there. She’s _Aunt_ Amaya to Callum and Ezran, but always _General_ Amaya to her, even now, after four years of peace and six months of marriage to her nephew. 

But Amaya’s smile is genuine, and she signs the word again as if to insist. _Aunt,_ she repeats. _I’m… sorry I’ve taken so long to adjust to you but… you’re family now. Sarai would have liked you from the beginning. She’d want no formalities between you and her. It’s only fair I do the same._

Understanding dawns on her. She’d known what it meant to Callum when she suggested it. She’d known what it meant to Ezran when she’d told him. She can’t believe she hadn’t realized how much it would mean to Amaya.

 _Sarai’s a good name, then?_ Rayla signs at last.

 _Yes,_ signs Amaya. _Aunt_ Amaya. _It is._

 

4.

 

“Your baby’s gonna be a nerd.”

One would think that, after two months of putting up with Soren’s poor humour at the Banther Lodge, Rayla might have grown used to the dumb things that find their way out of his mouth, but every now and then, he says something so outlandish that it always takes her a second to catch up.

“My baby’s going to be a what now?”

“A _nerd_ ,” drawls Soren. He tosses a Moonberry into the air and tries to catch it with his mouth, only to miss and have it bounce off his nose instead. It’s his turn to be her personal guard today. The idea makes her scowl - she shouldn’t _need_ a personal guard, and the fact that she _does_ only reminds her that she’s on the cusp of thirty-four weeks pregnant and that there’s a madman trying to kill her, which is the exact _opposite_ of what she should be thinking about if she ever intends to _relax_ the way Callum and the others want her to.

She rolls her eyes at him, bristling. “What makes you say that?” she grumbles, trying to be patient.

Soren snorts at her and tosses another Moonberry into the air. “Have you even _met_ your husband? If he’s gonna have a hand in raising this kid _at all_ , she’s going to grow up to be a _nerd._ What you _need_ is to make sure she hangs out with someone cool to make up for it.”

“Surely you don’t mean yourself.” Rayla smirks at him, making no attempt to hide the snicker that escapes from her lips when he misses the Moonberry.

“‘Course I mean me, I’m the coolest person up here.” He flashes her a grin. Rayla thinks it’s meant be suave but it comes off closer to idiotic, especially while his teeth are stained pink with Moonberry juice. “Who else is gonna teach her how to spar?”

Rayla raises an eyebrow at him. “Me.” 

“Who’s gonna teach her how to ride?”

“Ez, probably.”

“Archery?”

“Runaan.”

“Battle tactics?”

“Aunt Amaya.” 

Soren huffs, frustration growing behind the feigned pout on his features. Then he clicks his fingers and grins. “ _I_ can teach her how to pick up boys.”

“What if she’s into girls?”

“I’ve picked up girls too. I know what girls like.” He beams at her, proud and stupid and smarmy, but Rayla only smirks wider. 

“No offense, but Callum’s actually _married_ ,” she teases. “Pretty sure if this kid needs advice about the opposite sex, she’ll want it from someone who’s actually been _laid._ ” She gestures vaguely at her belly, her own grin cheekier and even more mischievous than his. 

As much as she hates Soren’s humour on most days, he’s the easiest to banter with, if only because he doesn’t hold back which means there’s no need for her to do so, either. She laughs at the scowl that crosses his face, but in the end, she takes a Moonberry from her own bowl and tosses it into her mouth. “You don’t _have_ to be able to teach her anything, you know,” she says finally. “You can just _hang out_ with her, like a normal uncle.”

Soren huffs. “That’s not the point,” he grumbles. “I wanna have a _thing_ , you know? Before… all _this_ -” he gestures at his legs - “My thing was, like, fighting, and stuff. Now I’m just… _useless_.” He looks away, the truth of it too present for him to feign nonchalance.

In the end, Rayla sighs. “You’re not useless,” she tells him finally. “You’ve been out here the last couple of months _protecting_ me and the little Moonbeam, and we know you’ll do just the same once she’s born. You already _have_ a _thing_ , Soren - you’re her protector, and one of her godparents, and if she ever needs to - you know, _talk_ to anyone about something Callum and I won’t understand, she’ll know to go to you.”

There’s a pause. Soren still doesn’t quite look at her, but she spots the flattered little smile on his lips before he straightens at last and reaches for another Moonberry. “It’s still gonna be a nerd, you know.”

Rayla scoffs. “There’s no better partnership than a cool uncle and his nerdy niece, don’t you think?”

“No,” laughs Soren. “I suppose there’s not.”

 

3.

 

“What’s it feel like?” Claudia asks one day.

They’re wandering around the Moonhenge. Rayla’s thirty-four and a half weeks in now - barring any unexpected hiccups, Rowena thinks that bub is only a week and a half away. _That_ scares her, but it’s also been thirty-four and a half _long_ weeks, and frankly, Rayla’s done with it.

“It sucks,” she tells Claudia honestly. “It sucks and everything’s sore and this kid couldn’t come into the world fast enough.”

Claudia laughs a little at that. “No, but I mean…” She pauses, her lips pursed and her eyes set upwards like she’s wondering how to phrase it. “Isn’t it amazing that you’re growing someone inside of you right now? One that’s half you and half Callum that’ll grow up to be person all on their own?”

Rayla’s lips twitch a little because _yes_ \- she _had_ thought those things - after she’d come to terms with being pregnant but before Balan and his goons decided to screw things up. The night she’d first felt the baby kick against her palm for the first time is still fresh in her memory. She’d felt it before then, but those movements were only flutterings in her stomach. Its first _true_ kick was something different, and she still remembers the way her breath had caught in her throat and the way she’d waited for it to kick again - just to be _sure -_ before she’d scrambled back into bed to wake Callum that night all those months ago. 

“It is amazing,” she admits quietly, her fingers drumming absently against her bump. “She kicks me in weird places and it’s uncomfortable and everything’s just _constantly_ sore but… it’s one of those things that feels like it’s worth it, you know? I think I’m just… being impatient. I guess I’m just really excited to meet the little one.”

“Is that just the polite way of saying you’re sick of being pregnant?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Rayla laughs. “I’m sick of being _huge_ . My ankles are swollen and my breasts are tender and I have to use the bathroom _all the time_ -” She shakes her head. “The concept is amazing. The execution? Not so much.”

Claudia hums thoughtfully. She glances skyward for a moment, her eyes sharp - Rayla knows she’s looking for other shadow ravens, but there are none today, and when she turns back to her, her smile falters only a little. They’ve been careful about bringing Balan up around her - the sentiment is nice, but the tip-toeing is getting annoying. Rayla wishes they wouldn’t. She’s not so fragile that she’ll have a panic attack at the thought of it.

“I remember when Lessa was born,”  Claudia says at last, purposefully dodging the subject. Rayla almost argues, but the words that follow take her mind from it altogether. “Ailas used to be a healer, right? You’d think he’d be used to childbirth and stuff, but I guess it’s different when it’s your own wife that’s doing the pushing. Rowie had to kick him out of the room.”

“Did she, now?” Rayla’s lips pull upwards, amused. She’s only ever seen Rowena snap a couple of times, but the idea of such a sweet, soft-spoken girl kicking an elf like Ailas out of a room is kind of hilarious. 

“He was better when Terryn came around,” Claudia tells her. “Do you think Callum’ll handle it okay?”

She hopes so, Rayla almost says, but the thought of labour tugs her mind back to the fact that Balan is waiting for it almost as much as she is. He’s out there somewhere, at the base of the mountain, biding his time until he knows she’s vulnerable and then it’s all or nothing for all of them. “He’ll have other things on his mind,” she says at last, her tone growing clipped. 

Claudia hesitates. The uncertainty crosses her features faster than she can keep her face straight, and it only makes Rayla scowl.

“Don’t even start,” she grumbles. “I know he’s coming just as well as all of you do, but pretending he’s not by avoiding the subject altogether isn’t helping.”

“Rayla, we just -”

“I _know_ ,” snaps Rayla. “But - _ah -_ ” She doubles over, both arms around her bump,  knees wobbling dangerously as the muscles in her belly slowly, _slowly_ relax again. Her breathing is sharp and shallow even after the pain subsides, and when she opens her eyes (she doesn’t even remember closing them), Claudia is crouched in front of her, brow furrowed in concern.

Rayla groans, willing her breathing to slow. “I probably deserved that, huh?”

“Not saying ‘yes’, exactly, but this is kind of why we’ve been avoiding the - uh - Balan topic.” Claudia grimaces, slinging one of her arms over her shoulders and helping her carefully back onto her feet. “Let’s head back, okay?”

“Yeah,” breathes Rayla, wincing. “Sorry,” she adds. “You were right.”

“Save it for after the baby comes,” chuckles Claudia. 

“If we’re all still alive after this, you mean?”

“Don’t even joke.”

 

2.

 

“So what will the baby be, then?” Runaan asks at the beginning of Rayla’s thirty-fifth week. “If you and Callum are Prince and Princess, will the baby get such a title?”

It’s not really something she’s had the chance to think about, honestly. This whole time, she’s been caught up in the _now_ of having this child, mostly because Balan and his men haven’t given her a choice. At most, she knows that bub has a claim to the Katolan throne - at least until Ez has an heir of his own, which won’t be for a long time yet. That means she’ll have to be raised in Katolis - in the castle for most of her life, learning how to eat and sleep and walk like royalty in between travelling from city to city with her parents.

It’s not at all what Rayla imagined for her child - or any child she might have, for that matter. Then again, she’d never exactly imagined herself married to a Prince, either, but here she is. 

“She’ll be a Princess, I think,” she tells Runaan at last. “I’m… not actually certain, but I think that’s right.”

“Hm.” Runaan pauses. He’s counting his arrows again. It’s something Rayla’s only ever seen him do a handful of times in her youth. To anyone else, he’s just making sure everything’s ready. To Rayla, it gives away his apprehension. His gear is always kept in good nick - always polished and accounted for and well maintained - but he counts his arrows when he’s nervous because the numbers take his mind off things, and she can’t even blame him for it. “Will Tinker and I see much of her at all?”

Rayla frowns at him. “Of course you will,” she says. “Just because she’ll be raised in the castle until Ez has an heir, doesn’t mean we won’t visit all the time. Callum and I will still be ambassadors after this. We’ll still need to travel. Why would you think you wouldn’t see her?”

Runaan sets his arrows down at last, his lips pressed tightly together in thought. “It’s hard, being caught between two places,” he says carefully. “Your child won’t just be Princess of Katolis. She’ll be a child of Cyra too. I just… hope she’ll have opportunities to learn about the other half of her heritage.” 

Rayla tilts her head at him. “She won’t be any less Moonshadow elf just because she’s half human.”

“She won’t be, no,” says Runaan, his smile grim. “It… can just be hard. To fit in, when she’s not just a halfling, but a halfling with royal blood in a Human Kingdom. And I have absolute faith in you and your husband - the child’s not even been born yet, and already, you’d go to the ends of the earth for her. When she comes, you and he will love this child with all your hearts, and you’ll be wonderful parents to her - but… it takes a village, they say. Two villages, in this case. The other is across the border.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot.”

“More than you, I think - but only because you’ve been preoccupied with keeping yourself and the baby safe.” Runaan chuckles at her. “I understand the obligations you have to Katolis. Just… bring her home to Tinker and I every once in a while, I guess.”

“How could I do anything else?” Rayla smiles at him and shifts in her chair, the baby heavy in her belly, its limbs pressing uncomfortably against her other organs. “I get it. I know what it’s like - to be caught between two sets of people, you know? But… maybe when she’s old enough for it to matter, it won’t be two sets of people anymore. Maybe this’ll all blow over, and she’ll grow up in a unified Xadia. Doesn’t that sound nice, little one?” She grins at her belly, her hope for the future for once bigger and stronger than any fears she might have of the murderer waiting for her down the mountain. “You’ll get to learn about everything then - all the magic, and all the cultures, and all the people in the world, and there’ll be no bad men to stop you. You’ll get to spend your summers with Great Uncle Runaan and Great Uncle Tinker; and you’ll get to spend your downtime with Uncle Ez and Auntie Claudia and Uncle Soren in Katolis; and you’ll get to see every corner of the world with me and your Dad - that’s the dream, huh, baby girl? Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

When she looks up, Runaan is watching her, a soft little smile on his lips. “Sure does,” he chuckles. “What a dream, indeed.”

 

1.

 

“Rayla. Hey. Are you okay?” 

It’s late, and Callum’s voice is barely louder than a whisper. Rayla’s thirty-five and a half weeks in now, and the child shifts and moves within her so much that it’s difficult to sleep. The last couple of nights have found her pacing up and down the sleeping quarters Lujanne’s arranged for them, hands at the small of her back to massage away the ache of carrying her little one for so long. 

“I’m fine,” Rayla murmurs. There’s no one for her to wake - the others have their own huts, courtesy of Lujanne’s magic - but she keeps her voice low anyway, the sound of it almost too loud in sleepy quiet of the night. “I’m just… sore.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

Rayla shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. Callum’s always been considerate, but she’s more appreciative of it now than ever. “Don’t worry about me,” she tells him. “Go back to sleep. They’re only cramps. They’ll settle eventually.”

“Or I could keep you company.” His smile is tired, but genuine, and he holds out his hand, catches her fingers in his, and tugs her gently back towards the bed. “Almost time, huh?”

“Yeah,” snorts Rayla. “She’s just as done with this as I am. It’s just…” She trails off awkwardly, but there’s no real need to finish the sentence. Balan’s on Callum’s mind too. They’ve all seen the shadow ravens, watching them from trees and circling high overhead, waiting for signs of her labour. Aunt Amaya’s men have seen no physical signs of him just yet, but they know he’s there all the same.

“What do you think our little girl will look like?” Callum asks, tearing her mind away from the subject. 

It takes a moment for the question to make sense in Rayla’s mind, the dull pain in her abdomen a little hard to think through, but when it _does_ click, she chuckles and glances down at the swell beneath her breasts. “I don’t know,” she says at last. “I haven’t really had the chance to picture her properly.”

“I think you,” says Callum. “Silver hair, little nubs where her horns’ll grow in, four tiny fingers and four tiny toes.” His grin is infectious at this point, Rayla finds herself grinning too, despite the thought of Balan, and despite the ache in her back and belly. “Kinda want her to have my eyes, though, if that’s okay. She’ll be so pretty, just like her mum.” He presses a kiss to the back of her hands, and Rayla feels a flattered blush creeping into her cheeks at his affection.

It’s weird, she thinks - they’ve been married almost six months now; engaged to be married for a year before that; and overtly affectionate despite their claims that they were ‘ _just friends’_ for even _longer_ before _that._ Still, he finds ways to bring redness into her cheeks and to make her giggle like a teenager, and it’s nights like tonight that remind her how much he loves her, and she him. “I think I’d rather she looked like you,” she tells him at last. “She’ll still have horn nubs and four fingers, but she’s more likely to get your brown hair and green eyes.”

“It’d be really funny if she turned out to be a boy after all this time, huh?”

Rayla lets out a laugh. “That might be a little awkward,” she chuckles, “but I don’t think it’ll matter in the end. I just want her healthy, and happy, and - at the end of all this - _safe_ , you know?” Her smile falls a little, her mind drifting back to the problem at hand. “She _will_ be safe, won’t she?” 

Callum nods. “Of course she will be,” he says quietly. “We’ll get him, Rayla. He’ll be finished before bub even comes into the world, and she won’t ever grow up being afraid of people like him. I promise.”

“I know.” She chuckles at him despite herself, but it’s replaced almost instantly by a wince as her muscles spasm once more. “They’re getting closer together,” she manages. “Rowie hasn’t said anything but… _ow_ -”

Callum blinks at her, uncertainty in his eyes. “It’s - it’s not time yet, is it? It’s still early!”

Rayla swallows. The implication hadn’t felt so heavy in her head, but out loud it makes her insides freeze up with fear. “I - I don’t know,” she mumbles, doubling over as her womb clenches again, “but - _ah_ -”

“Rayla!” Panic rises in Callum’s eyes. He grimaces, crouching in front of her as she tries to catch her breath. “Should I get Rowie?”

Rayla nods wordlessly as the muscles in her belly relax enough to let her think. She counts the seconds in her head as Callum hurries out of their little hut. He’s only gone maybe one hundred of them, but her belly seizes again, and she _knows,_ before Rowena even crouches in front of her, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, that time’s run out.

“She’s coming now, isn’t she?” manages Rayla through gritted teeth.

Rowena nods, her eyes suddenly clear and hard and wide-awake because she knows what else it means as much as they do. 

Rayla catches Callum’s eye, the green of them hard and unforgiving as the thought completes itself in his mind. He sets his jaw and snatches her blades up from the nightstand. “Get somewhere safe,” he tells them. “It’s time to finish this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game on, team! Just a little longer to go!!!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get into position,” he says quietly. “Nothing gets past us, okay? Whatever happens, Rayla stays safe.”

xxiv.

  
  


Balan’s camped out in a cave halfway up the mountain when it happens. It’s late. A little before midnight probably. The waning crescent moon is high in the sky, the fresh snow on the mountainside shining silver in its weak light. He’s had shadow ravens flying over the Moon Nexus for weeks now, watching in his stead, _waiting_ for the most opportune moment to strike - and when he hears them caw at him that night, and he shuts his eyes to look through theirs, he sees the midwife ushering the elf into the safety of the mountain, hand on her belly and instructing her to _breathe_ , and he _laughs._

He tosses another log into the fire. Waits until it’s high and happy before he takes the clay pot from his pack and empties its contents into the flames.

“She thought she’d rid me of an army,” he scoffs. “ _Sha fo eht nellaf, eris niaga. Wodahs sreidlos!”_

The physical effort it takes to conjure them is immense. Balan feels the ache in his head well before the figures rise around him, but he ignores it, his focus, instead, on the bodies of his men, resurrected by their own ashes and the crushed bones of a Xadian pale horse. 

“No mistakes this time,” he mutters, turning his eyes to the mountaintop. “Kill the others. Leave the Prince and the elf to me.”

The shadows leap into the night.

 

x

 

It’s a rush to wake everyone. Callum feels the exhaustion gnawing at him in his stomach, but his apprehension all but drowns it. He hasn’t slept properly in days - a combination of the fact that Rayla’s spent the last couple of nights shifting uneasily in bed beside him, and of the knowledge that Balan is out there, lurking in the darkness, ready to strike her down. He sends Claudia and Lujanne after her and Rowena - their final line of defence in case he and the others can’t bring Balan down, and as much as he wishes he could be there with them, his single priority right now is to make sure Balan doesn’t come anywhere near his wife and child. 

He grips her blades in his hands, his palms sweaty against their hilts, his heart hammering away in his throat as he paces up and down the grounds.

“Maybe he’s not coming,” says Soren. There’s tension in his shoulders, and the cocky grin on his lips is obviously fake. It’s a poor attempt to settle Callum’s nerves, but an attempt nonetheless. Callum would be grateful for it any other day, he thinks, but the way he fiddles with his vial of Potenserum only reminds him that Soren’s confidence is feigned. “Maybe he doesn’t know.” 

“Don’t be an idiot,” snaps Callum. It comes out harsher than he intends, and he relents. “He’s had those shadow ravens watching us for weeks now. Of course he knows.”

“Fretting won’t do you any good,” says Runaan pointedly, thumbing through his quiver of arrows as he counts them once more. “You’ll need a clear head tonight. Rayla’s relying on you.”

 _That_ only makes the churning in Callum’s stomach _worse._ In all the years he’s known her, Rayla’s never had to rely on anyone for protection, let alone _him_ , and in the months that she _has,_ he’s done nothing but fail her. He’d _given_ her the thing that allowed Balan to find her. He hadn’t been there when she needed him most. Even now, he’s waiting out here with Runaan and Soren, instead of with her for the most vulnerable moments of her life.

He won’t fail her again.

He _can’t._

His grip tightens around her blades. They feel heavy in his hands - foreign, almost, even though he’s grown used to handling them. He feels something build on the tip of his tongue - a response, probably, but Commander Gren coughs as he approaches them, his armour clanking with every step.

“Your Highness,” he says, bowing his head a little. “There’s movement at the base of the mountain. We think he’s here.”

Behind Callum, Soren and Runaan exchange glances. 

Then Soren uncaps the vial. “Cheers,” he says, swallowing half the fluid in one go. He tosses what’s left of it to Runaan.

Runaan eyes it with a wrinkle across his nose, reluctant to accept it from _Soren_ , of all people, and to admit that he even needs it - but he catches Callum’s eye, their joint concern for Rayla more pressing than his need to maintain his pride. He sighs. “Cheers,” he grumbles, downing the rest.

Callum nods at them both. The gravity of this isn’t lost on him. Four and a half years ago, they were on opposite sides, and Runaan was on a mission to murder his stepfather while Soren took a stand against him. To see them sharing a vial of Potenserum in Rayla’s defence is something else. He offers them a twitch of his lips - the closest thing to a grin he can manage - and huffs. “Get into position,” he says quietly. “ _Nothing_ gets past us, okay? Whatever happens, Rayla stays safe.”

They nod.

Runaan slings his quiver onto his back. Soren unsheathes Ailas’ sunforge blade.

“Rayla stays safe,” they agree. They promise. Callum holds them to it.

 

x

 

The way Balan’s heard it, the Moon Nexus is a cluster of ruins, thousands of years old, sacred to Moonshadow elves, and guarded by monsters and unspeakable terrors. How appropriate, he thinks. It’s fitting that the elf should make her last stand up there - if it’s much of a last stand at all. She’s weak, and that makes her Prince weak, and that’s just all the better for him.

Something’s not quite right about it, though. He’d expected some resistance on the way up. He’d expected some sort of defence designed to wear him out before he even got to the top of the mountain - 

But there’s nothing. Not even twitch of movement out of the corner of his eye. The slopes are barren and empty as he scales them - so much so that a part of him wonders if the elf and her friends are even up there at all.

He shakes his head. Of course they are. Dark magic doesn’t lie, and his maps say she’s there so she must be. The silence on the mountain puts goosebumps on the back of his neck; the deadness of it eerie and threatening in itself, but he presses on anyway, wondering if his army of shadow soldiers are in position already. 

This was always supposed to be a trap. He’d known that from the beginning. He knows it now, and it feels far too much like that night at the Banther Lodge to be anything else. When he reaches the top, he’s greeted, again, by nothing. 

There’s no Prince.

No Amaya and her retinue of guards.

Only darkness stretching over the stone ruins and worn dirt paths.

“You made it, General.”

That voice makes him snarl. He spins, eyes flitting wildly in their sockets, and when he spots her, he feels his hackles rising at how casually she sits upon a boulder at the edge of the wood. She’s not as composed as the last time - the silver of her hair is dark with sweat; there’s a tightness in her jaw that gives away her exhaustion; a patch of wetness in the skirt of her dress that tells him _exactly_ what’s going on -

Balan scowls at her. He tugs the crossbow off his belt and fires a bolt at her, knowing it’ll miss but hoping, secretly, that it won’t -

But it passes through her chest, and she only rolls her eyes, a grim smirk tugging at her lips. “Wasting no time, I see.”

He snorts. “ _Coward_ ,” he seethes. 

“Says the man intent on killing a pregnant elf while she’s labouring,” says the elf dryly. He hears the hitch in her breath and the tremble in her voice; sees the little twitch of the muscles in her cheek, and he wonders how hard it is for her to concentrate on facing him like this. “You really are pathetic,” she says. “Who puts this much effort into being such an awful person?”

He sneers at her. “An ‘awful person’,” he scoffs. “As if you and your _people_ aren’t just the same. You’re murderers. All of you. What’s one monster killing another?”

“ _Pathetic,”_ the elf repeats. “That’s what’s so interesting about being a person, you know? You don’t _have_ to be stupid about this. You can _choose_ to let this go. You don’t _have_ to do this.”

Balan barks out a laugh. “Is this your way of begging me to spare you?”

The snorts at him. “It’s your last warning,” she says, the lilac of her eyes glinting dangerously in the pale moonlight, even in spite of the work it must be taking to remain so composed. “Do _not_ forget who you’re dealing with tonight. If you choose to do this, you _will_ die.”

“What a funny thing to say from someone in labour,” scoffs Balan. “You know what your chances are out here, don’t you? I might not even have to kill you myself.”

“You’d better hope that’s the case,” snaps the elf. “Because if, somehow, we’re _both_ still alive after all of this, I will hunt you down and end you _personally._ ”

“I’m quaking in my boots,” snorts Balan, unflinching in the face of her threats.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” She smirks at him one final time before the image of her fades like dye in water. Balan watches the last wisps of her disappear into the darkness before he hears it - the light footfalls of someone attempting to sneak up on him; the metallic _shing_ of a rune being drawn into the air -

There’s only one person it could be. Balan reacts on instinct. He turns. Reaches into his pack for the shrivelled paw in the front pocket and mutters, _“Laets eht eciov!”_

The magical green hand materializes in his palm. It’s too fast for even Callum and his practised hands, zipping past the shimmering, unfinished rune and into his throat. Recognition dawns on his face as his voice leaves him, gripped tightly in the fist of Balan’s spell.

Balan smirks. “It’s a little harder to cast magic without a voice, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

Callum scowls at him, but he waves the rune aside and reaches behind him instead. 

Balan recognises the movement too late - it’s the same one the elf uses to unsheath her blades - and Callum has both in his hands, flicked into their sword forms, before he remembers that she’d taught him how to use them almost as adeptly as her. 

He draws his sword in time to parry Callum’s first blow and dodges out of the way of the second, the shrivelled paw still clutched tightly in his left hand. He tries to strike back, but Callum ducks below his blade, sweeping a leg under his, and Balan stumbles, breaking his fall with a roll.

“Very good, Your Highness,” he snarls. “She’s taught you well, hasn’t she?”

Callum’s lips twitch dangerously, his eyes flitting to Balan’s closed fist. Balan knows what he wants immediately - knows that the fastest way to end this is with magic and that Callum can’t do it without a voice. It makes him want to laugh. 

He raises a hand, his shadow soldiers appearing at the signal, their bodies pulsing with dark magic. He thinks he sees something like panic flash in Callum’s eyes, and then he _does_ laugh -

“Are you worried yet, Your Highess?”

Callum snorts at him, a mirthless grin spreading across his lips. He tosses both his weapons into the ground, blades first, and signs something into the air.

“About you? Yes.”

Balan knows that voice too. When he turns again, he finds himself and his soldiers surrounded, with General Amaya and Commander Gren blocking his path back down the mountain. The soldier boy’s there too, sunforge blade in hand and at the ready, along with another Moonshadow elf - one whose resemblance to their so-called Princess is evident only in the shape of his jaw.

“This is your last chance to back off, Balan,” Gren says, this time on behalf of Amaya. “Surrender.”

“I thought better of you, Amaya.”

“I never did of you,” sneers Gren, watching Amaya’s hands. “ _Surrender_.”

Balan eyes them all. Part of him almost wants to. Somewhere in his heart, he knows that it’ll take a miracle to get out of this alive, and perhaps it might be easier to give it all up now. But he looks at their faces, their eyes hard and unforgiving, and for what? An _elf_ . A cold-blooded, murderous _elf_ who deserves nothing more than to die at his hand after what her people did to him and his family. It disgusts him. He grips his sword tighter, and the severed paw tighter still. “I’ll surrender when that _whore_ is _dead_ ,” he barks. He nods at his soldiers. “Kill them all.”

 

x

 

Rayla’s eyes snap open, a strangled cry escaping her throat as pain spasms through her belly. Claudia’s behind her, glowing primal stone in one hand, her fingers squeezed tightly in the other, offering what little support she can in Callum’s stead. Rowena is kneeling in front of her, hands on her knees, her jaw tight with apprehension. Lujanne is a little way away drawing runes into the air for protection.

They’re on the stone balcony overlooking the lake. It’s the furthest from the danger they’d managed before Rayla’s water had broken and Rowena had decided it was far enough. 

“He’s there now,” Rayla manages through gritted teeth. The pain makes it hard to think - hard to _breathe_ \- and Claudia’s magic had come at a cost. It had worn her ragged last time, but she’s labouring now, and the added stress on her body has made her weak. “Tell me it’s time.”

“Not quite,” says Rowena, glancing between her legs again. She’s frowning a little. It makes Rayla wonder if something’s not quite right, but her focus stays on the job. “You gotta hang on a little bit longer, okay?”

Rayla groans, her breathes tired and heavy. She leans her head back against Claudia’s shoulder, fighting the pain and the exhaustion until a sob forces its way out of her lips. Moon above, it _hurts_ , and there’s nothing she can do about it.

“Chew on this,” she hears Lujanne say. “It’ll help the pain.” 

Vaguely, Rayla registers something being placed between her teeth. The taste of bark fills her mouth, and she grimaces and clutches at Claudia’s fingers tighter still. A haze follows, though, and while tears leak from the corners of her eyes with the next contraction, the pain feels distant.

“Almost there,” she hears Rowena say again. “Hang in there, Princess. It’s almost time.”

Gods, Rayla hopes so, but the words don’t quite make it out of her mouth. She only sobs.

 

x

 

The fighting breaks out around them, but Callum hardly notices it. Dimly, he’s aware that Aunt Amaya, and Commander Gren, and Soren, and Runaan are around him, taking the brunt of Balan’s shadow soldiers, but all he knows is that Balan is keeping him from being with his wife _again_ and that this needs to end. His voice is still in Balan’s fist, and Callum _knows_ that, even with two swords over Balan’s one, it’ll be harder fight to win. Meanwhile, Rayla is labouring, the danger of it not lost of him even _if_ Rowena and Lujanne are with her, and there’s part of him that’s terrified, not of Balan, but of the idea that she might not make it out of this even if they _do_ stop him.

The thought _angers_ him, and Callum scowls, tugging Rayla’s blades out of the grass to hold them in front of him, at the ready. He jerks his head at Balan - a taunt - a _dare_ \- an unspoken _let’s finish this, then_ -  and Balan lunges -

Callum parries the blow; rolls out of the way with a huff; strikes back with one, and then both blades, but Balan’s too fast for him, even in his old age. It’s like he’s stronger, somehow - as if he’s borrowed power from something else, just for this - and then Callum realizes that he probably has.

There’s a look in his eye that’s almost… _unhinged._ He’s not quite himself anymore, and of course he’s not - he’s been dabbling in dark magic all year, and he doesn’t exactly have the willpower of someone like Claudia.

Claudia had known it took patience to learn how to properly wield something as dangerous as dark magic. It took its toll on her, but her ideologies - her belief in the idea that what she was doing was _right_ kept her sane for long enough to figure out that it _wasn’t_. 

Balan has none of that. His disposition is comparatively weak, and _that_ strengthens Callum’s resolve.

He charges at him, Rayla’s blades whistling through the air as he swings them to meet Balan’s. He dodges - parries - lunges - and keeps his eyes locked on the closed fist the whole time, his goal singular and obvious until it costs him. He doesn’t see Balan’s knee coming until it’s in his stomach, and the wind rushes out of him, giving Balan an opening to send him crashing to the ground.

Callum wheezes, his breath short and ragged, as Balan looms towards him, mad grin on his face.

“Weak,” he scoffs. “ _You_ were supposed to have defeated Viren, but you’re nothing without magic, are you?” He raises his sword, and Callum’s eyes widen.

He rolls out of the way just as the sword plunges into the ground where his chest might have been barely seconds before. He scoots back along the grass, still struggling to get up, to _breathe_. He catches sight of Aunt Amaya and Commander Gren, back to back and surrounded; at Soren, whose exhaustion is starting to show; at Runaan who’s been forced backwards in an effort to keep those shadow soldiers away from Rayla -

 _Breathe_ , he thinks. _Breathe. Come, on, BREATHE._

 

x

 

“ _Breathe,_ Princess, it’s almost time, okay? Just a little -”

Rowena cuts herself off.

Rayla almost doesn’t notice between the pain and bark in her teeth, but it’s the paleness of Rowena’s face that gets her. She’s been around too long now for Rayla not to notice the subtle changes in her posture and the little grimace that crosses her face, even in the midst of her labour. “What’s - what’s happening?” she manages

Rowena exchanges concerned glaces with Claudia, and then with Lujanne before she chooses her words carefully. “It’s going to be fine,” she says, but even Rayla doesn’t miss the way her voice shakes. She lifts Rayla’s skirt higher, and almost too late, Rayla realizes that there’s blood - _her_ blood - on her fingers. Her breath stalls.

“Rowie, what’s _happening?_ ”

Rowena presses her lips together. In spite of her professionalism - in spite of the way Rayla can practically see the way she’s weighing her options in her head - there’s fear there. They’re too far out from the nearest town to get help if they need it. There’s only so much she can do with the limited supplies that she has. She takes a breath. “Listen to me, Princess,” she says finally. “You’re bleeding again, and we need to deliver this baby as fast as we can, okay? We can’t wait any longer, so you’re gonna push with your next contraction, yeah?”

“Rowie, what’s _wrong?_ ” It’s Claudia who asks this time, and Rayla can’t see her face, but the tightness of her grip around her fingers betrays her concern. “Is everything okay? Is the baby okay?”

“Bub’s going to be fine,” says Rowena quickly. “I just - the rest of the placenta’s come away early, I think.” She swallows. “It’s hard to tell without Ailas. She’s dilated enough now. We just have to be fast. Okay, Princess? Breathe for me - it’s time to push now. Ready?”

The contraction starts.

Rayla lets out a cry.

She pushes.

 

x

 

An arrow thuds into Balan’s armour. 

Callum glances up.

Runaan already has a second arrow nocked, and he gives Callum a _look_ as he dodges a blow from a shadow soldier. 

_Rayla stays safe._

He looses it, and Callum kicks out at Balan’s knees and sends him stumbling into the ground. His fist stays closed, but the promise he’d made - the one they’d _all_ made - renews his resolve. 

Rayla stays _safe_.

Callum lunges. Flicks one of Rayla’s blades into its hook form and catches Balan’s cape with it. Drags him back unceremoniously until, in his desperation, Balan drops the shrivelled paw in his fist.

Callum’s voice comes back with his first full breath. He gasps. He coughs. He scowls. “You’re going to wish you had a tighter grip.”

Balan scowls back at him, tearing his ruined cape off his shoulders and letting it flutter to the ground. “You think I’m afraid of you?” he snarls, opening his pack for a dried tentacle. “ _Tsaf mih dnib,_ ” he whispers.

A burst red light shines from his palm, and the next thing Callum knows is pressure - around his neck, and over his chest, and around his spine. The tendril of dark magic squeezes, cutting his breath off for the second time tonight. He claws at it with one hand, but his fingers pass through it like it’s nothing and he feels his nails scrabbling against his own skin instead. 

Balan’s grinning maniacally as he steps towards him, the whites of his eyes still black with dark magic, his arm outstretched and his fingers crooked around the tentacle like it’s Callum’s throat.

Desperate and gasping, he grips Rayla’s blade in his other hand - flips his hold on it and points it down - and _slices -_

Balan lets out a howl. He drops the tentacle, blood pouring from his arm, and Callum crashes to the ground.

Callum doesn’t wait this time. He scribbles a rune into the air, casting orange light across the grounds, and he rasps - “ _Ignis!”_  

Flames roar to life in his hands and he thrusts his palm outward, aiming not at Balan - but at the pack at his side. The leather catches fire like its doused in turpentine - Balan yelps, swearing as he struggles to remove it, but the damage is done.

His ingredients are gone.

His spell book is gone.

His shadow soldiers still. They don’t crumble, but without his pack and his books, Balan has no control over them, his connection to them gone with the rest of his borrowed power. Their glowing purple eyes turn to him, waiting for orders that he can’t now give them and Callum fights the urge to laugh.

He stalks forward, seething and exhausted, knocking Balan’s sword out of his hand as he raises it with a lazy swipe of the blade he still has in one hand. He tosses Rayla’s sword into the ground, seizes the older man around the collar and drags him to his feet, and slams a fist into his cheek.

Balan crumples to the ground.

Vaguely, Callum registers his friends stilling around him but he almost doesn’t care. This _bastard_ has come too close to hurting his wife and child one too many times and he’s _done_ being patient and forgiving about it.

“You should have surrendered,” he snarls, advancing even as Balan scrambles away. “You would have had a better chance facing the gallows.”

“Are you going to kill me then?” spits Balan, blood on his lip.

“You haven’t exactly given me a choice.”

Balan barks out a laugh, blood and saliva spraying outwards as he tries to shuffle away. His eyes are wild. Desperate. Callum almost feels sorry for him as he stumbles clumsily back onto his feet. He smirks. “Are you _really_ going to waste time with me?” he says.

Callum snarls at him. “What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?”

Balan’s smirk grows wider. “Isn’t your wife in labour at this very moment?”

“Callum.” That’s Soren. He steps forward, Ailas’ sunforge blade hanging limply at his side, his armour battered, his face covered in a sheen of sweat and soot. “He’s taunting you. End this.”

But Balan ignores him, the desperation in his eyes growing closer to mad with every passing second. “It’d be a shame if, after all this, neither of them made it anyway. Her chances out here aren’t so good, and you know that, don’t you, Your Highness?”

The words make Callum swallow. He knows what this is. He’s not an idiot. It’s Balan’s last ditch attempt to stay alive - to be handed over to Aunt Amaya and her men to face a trial instead of dying here and now. Part of him wants to just do it - to end this, once and for all and to guarantee the safety of his child with his own hands, but Rayla bursts into his mind, the image of blood on her shift sending ice through his veins. 

He hesitates, and for the first time, his eyes flit away from Balan and towards the recesses of the Nexus.

 

x

 

“Bub’s crowning, Princess, _push!”_

Rayla shakes her head. Her throat is sore. Her vision is blurring. Her fingers are numb from clutching Claudia’s. “I can’t,” she whines weakly. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” urges Claudia, although she sounds probably even more terrified than Rayla feels. “You can do it. Come on, Rayla, you’re almost there.”

“We need to get bub out of there _now,_ Princess, _push!”_

Rayla does. A hoarse cry leaves her lips with it as she feels the head of her baby pass through her loins at long, _long_ last - but there’s no wail.

Silence hangs in the air in between her heaving breaths and Claudia’s encouragement.

Lujanne presses her fingers to her lips.

“Rayla, _push!”_

 

x

 

“I remember what it was like,” sneers Balan. “The loss. I did everything I could for them, and in the end, they died anyway. Different circumstances, but still. You and I are the same in that way, Your Highness.”

“I’m _nothing_ like you,” snaps Callum, the hilt of Rayla’s blade digging into his fingers. 

“No,” agrees Balan with a smirk. “You’re better than me. In every way. You should be with your wife right now, not here.”

“ _Callum.”_  

That’s Soren again, but he sounds distant. Balan’s starting to sound distant too. Callum glances in the direction of the Moonhenge once more, his breath heavy as it leaves his lips. All there is in his mind is Rayla and the baby. 

“What’s it going to be, Your Highness?” says Balan. “How much more time will you waste on me?”

Callum doesn’t even get to respond - Aunt Amaya’s too fast for him. Her movements are graceful, even as she backhands him so hard that his cheek splits and he folds onto the ground. When she turns to Callum again, her jaw is set, the hazel of her eyes hard. _Go_ , she signs. _We’ll take care of this._

Callum doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He stumbles over his own feet as sprints towards the centre of the Nexus, tripping over cracks in the ruins and over stones in the path. Rayla and the baby are at the forefront of his mind, but when he finds them at last, his heart stops.

There’s no cry. No tell-tale wail of a newborn child. Only Rayla, sobbing and shuddering as Rowena tugs an unbreathing baby from between her legs.

“It’s done, Rowena,” says Lujanne, gently, but the young midwife snarls at her.

“Bag,” she snaps. There’s so much ferocity in her voice that for a moment, Lujanne only stares. “ _Now._ ” 

Lujanne blinks, but she nudges the pack towards her anyway. Rowena’s movements are swift. Practised. Professional, and something like hope bubbles in Callum’s chest when she clears the child’s airways and begins to pump lightly at her chest.

“Come on, baby girl,” she coaxes. “Just a little breath. Come on. Dad’s here now too. Come on.”

There’s maybe a half a minute of silence, before - 

The baby hiccups. It’s so weak, Callum almost doesn’t hear it, but Rowena’s face splits into a grin, and Rayla’s breath hitches in her throat, and then there’s a wail -

“ _Moon above.”_  Rayla lets out a sob. 

Behind her, Claudia’s shoulders slump, her eyes filling with tears of relief. “Oh my gods,” she chokes. “Oh my gods, that was terrifying.”

Callum’s knees almost buckle, but Rowena grins at him, and then at Rayla, and he does the only thing that makes sense. He stumbles forward speechlessly, tugging his scarf from his neck to proffer it stupidly at Rowena. She takes it with a laugh, wrapping it deftly around his wriggling, _wailing_ daughter before she shuffles forwards on her knees and presses the baby gently into Rayla’s arms.

It feels like someone’s got his voice again, even as falls to his knees beside his wife and child to press relieved and grateful kisses into both their foreheads. She looks like him, Callum notes vaguely. Just a little tuft of brown hair on her head, tiny curved ears, and nubs where her horns will grow in, and _gods_ , he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

“You stubborn thing,” mumbles Rayla, sniffling. “Hi there, baby girl. Dad and I are so pleased to meet you. You gave us a heck of a scare there.”

“Did you get him?” asks Claudia quietly.

Callum nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. “He’s uh. He’s done. Aunt Amaya’s going to make sure of it.” He lets out a breath. Smooths his daughter’s hair out of her face, and chokes out a sigh. “You’re okay now, lovely,” he whispers. “Sarai,” he corrects too late. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a mess? I don't know. I've been on nights and I haven't slept properly in like two days. I'm just so done with this fic tbh hahaha
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~~current status: waiting for any midwives or doctors to come and tell me how much I fucked up~~


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world can wait for once.

xxv.

  
  


“I want to talk to him.”

Callum stares. It’s been a couple of days now. Rayla’s on her feet again already, against her better judgement and against Rowena’s advice, but she says it makes the ache between her legs easier to deal with and that she’s been inactive long enough. They’re in their hut tonight, and she’s pacing, wincing a little as she goes, with little Sarai bundled carefully against her chest.

“To who? To Balan?”

She nods. There’s a hardness in her features when she answers, but she allows none of it to seep into her voice, afraid she might wake Sarai. “He’s still here, isn’t he? Aunt Amaya and the others haven’t left yet.” 

He is, in a magical prison of Callum’s own making, and under constant surveillance from Aunt Amaya and her men. There’s a cell waiting for him in the castle that probably won’t be his home for very long but transporting someone like Balan is dangerous, even without his books and his borrowed magic. Aunt Amaya wants to guarantee that he’s put away for good, and she wants her men fully recuperated to do it. 

There’s a part of Callum that wishes they didn’t have to wait at all. He should have ended it then. He shouldn’t have _listened_ -

But he thinks about what he might have missed if he hadn’t left when he had. Thinks about what might have happened if Rowena hadn’t managed to resuscitate Sarai.

In the end, he thinks that this is for the better.

Still, he cocks his head uncertainly at Rayla, not so sure that facing him so soon after the birth of their daughter is such a good idea. She’s not weak. She’s never been weak. But she _is_ recovering from one of the most harrowing experiences of her life and for once, he wishes that she would just _rest._

But that’s not her. Rayla has always been headstrong and stubborn and fiercely protective of the people she loves, and he can’t keep her from facing him no matter how much he wants to. The most he can do is face him with her. 

“In the morning,” he promises. “Before they go.” He offers her a smile, catching her hand as she comes close, her fingers still a perfect fit against his. Sarai stirs a little, and Callum’s smile grows wider. “She’s doing so well,” he murmurs. “Aren’t you, lovely? Our little Moonbeam.”

The hardness in Rayla’s face falters, the lilac of her eyes soft and shining as she turns them to the baby tucked against her chest. “She’s so pretty.”

“Just like her mum,” Callum chuckles, his voice low. He touches her cheek with gentle fingers, hardly daring to believe that she’s really there after all this time. It’s amazing how much of them is in her. She looks like him at first glance, yes - his hair, and his nose, and his rounded ears - but her eyes and the paleness of her skin are Rayla’s, and unmistakably so.

“I keep -” Rayla presses her lips shut hesitantly. She takes a breath. “I keep wanting to check that she’s breathing,” she confesses after a moment. “She’ll go to sleep for a minute and I -”

 “I get it.” He huffs, relieved that he isn’t the only one. She’s so small; so _delicate_ \- but she’s so like her mother already - headstrong and stubborn in all the same ways - and he knows with a surety he can’t explain that she’s going to be just fine, even if he _does_ hesitate until he sees her chest rising and falling with every tiny breath. “But she’s a fighter, just like you. She’s - she’s gonna be okay.”

“I know.” Rayla presses a kiss against her forehead, the corners of her lips tugged into a smile so full of love that it fills Callum’s whole being with warmth. She nods at his arms, holding Sarai out to him so she can rest her own, and he takes her gladly and without complaint.

It’s not the first time he’s held his baby girl, but he imagines having her in his arms is something he’ll never tire of. She’s so light that he wonders, again, if she really is there. He prods her nose, chuckling to himself when she scrunches her eyes together at the sensation, her tiny four-fingered hands grasping clumsily at his thumb as he runs his fingers across her cheeks.

 _Gods_ , she’s perfect. More perfect than he ever thought was possible, and she’s only a couple of days old but he loves her _so much_ already. 

When he glances up, he finds Rayla smiling at him, looking as if she wants to say something but she’s not sure what. In the end, she shakes her head and brings her forehead to his, their noses pressed together in chaste affection, her breath mingling lightly with his own. “I love you,” she mumbles at last. “Both of you.”

“We know,” chuckles Callum. “Don’t we, Sarai? And we love mum too, very, _very_ much.”

It means nothing to her just yet, of course, but she shifts anyway, comforted by the voices of her parents, and the warmth and security of her father’s arms.

 

x

 

They see Aunt Amaya and her men off at dawn. She kisses her new grand-niece goodbye with a smile, and with a promise to make sure the bad man goes away for good, but to Callum and Rayla, she signs something else.

 _You wanted to talk to him?_ she asks Rayla.

Rayla nods, her shoulders stiffening a little, her arms tightening ever so slightly around her baby girl. 

Aunt Amaya nods, and she beckons them both to the windowless wagon chained to her own and Gren’s horses. She raps twice against the door and slides a hatch open - barely large enough to fit an arm through, but it’s enough. Balan squints against the light, scowling at the sight of them and at the little bundle in Rayla’s arms.

“So you’re both alive then,” he sneers.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but yes,” snaps Rayla. He can’t do anything to them now - Aunt Amaya and Callum had personally made sure of it - but she feels Callum’s fingers twitching by her side anyway, at the ready, just in case. “I hope it was worth it to you. All of this. It’s cost you your life.”

“There’ll be others,” he snorts. “Ideas are harder to kill than me, Your Highnesses. This ‘peace’ you’re so proud of won’t last. Pity I won’t be around to see it crumble.”

Rayla scoffs at him. “You really are just a sad old man, aren’t you? Wonder what your son would think of you now.”

 _That_ stalls him. His eyes widen, just a bit, and something like confusion crosses his face before it's replaced by rage. He starts forward, but a chain in the centre of the wagon stops him short and he stumbles.

“General Amaya told us,” says Rayla mildly. “How you sent him to the Breach, and that he died because of _your_ want for power. He was a sweet kid, according to her. He didn’t want to be there to begin with but you sent him anyway. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve _you._ ”

“Your people _murdered_ him,” he snarls, spraying blood and spit at them through the opening in the wagon. “You’re all _monsters_ . You _killed_ him.”

“No,” says Rayla. “That was _you_. Goodbye, Balan.” She nods at Aunt Amaya, and she slides the hatch shut until all that’s left of Balan is the sound of him struggling against his chains in the wagon. 

 _Ezran may want to wait until you’re both back in the city before a formal execution_ , she signs. _We’ll keep an eye on him in the meantime. He won’t see the light of day again, you have my word._

 _Thanks Aunt Amaya_ , signs Callum. _Travel safe._

She nods, offering them a short bow before she pulls both of them into a gentle hug. Then she climbs onto her horse, Gren at her side, and flicks the reigns. The wagon lurches - they hear Balan stumble inside it - and Callum slips an arm around Rayla’s waist until they disappear down the slopes of the mountain.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a moment.

Rayla breathes in. When the breath comes out again, it does so in a rush, her back slumping heavily with it, but she leans her head against his shoulder and nods. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I am now.” 

  


x

 

It’s the darkness that gets him. There’s no alcohol in it to keep his mind off his faults and failures; nothing to distract him from the fact that he’s going to _die_ in a few days when he doesn’t even know that they’re passing. His face aches from the cuts and bruises Callum and Amaya had put into it; his wrists are raw from rubbing against the shackles chaining him to the ground, and when they get to the capital at last, they throw him into another cell, not so different from the one he was already in.

The lack of stimuli drives him mad.

Balan half wonders if he already was to begin with.

He sees faces in the stones of his cell. The elf’s. Callum’s. Amaya’s. Taunting him until he wishes they would end his misery already and be done with it. It’s Alys’ face that convinces him he’s lost his mind.

 _You did this_ , she seems to say, her voice airy and far away. She’d hated him towards the end, but Balan never forgot the sound of her voice. It’s almost a comfort. 

“So I did,” he rasps. It’s been days since he’s spoken to anyone and his throat is dry with disuse. 

_What for?_

Balan snorts at her. At himself. He might be mad, but not quite mad enough to believe she’s really there. “I did it for you,” he spits. “And for Lennart. Those _monsters_ are the reason you’re dead. I won’t bow to one and her abomination of a child.”

Alys tilts her head at him, the hazel of her eyes is clear even in the darkness of his cell. She regards him with pity - the same sneer etched on her features when she looked at him while she was alive. It infuriates him. 

 _You did it for yourself,_ she corrects. _We never would have wanted this, but that didn’t matter to you, did it?_

“Shut up.”

She smirks. _You really are just a sad old man, aren’t you?_

“SHUT UP!” He’s still shackled, but he has movement enough to seize the undrunk cup of water at his feet. He hurls it across the cell with a snarl, and Alys disappears, leaving him alone in the darkness once more.

 

x

 

When Amaya’s men come for him, he’s almost relieved. Any longer in that cell would have had him clawing at his own eyes and ears in an effort to unsee the faces that taunt him in the dark, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He sees them when he closes his eyes as well. It would only have been a more painful way to die, and he’d rather hang than listen to those voices any more than he already has.

Ezran doesn’t bother with a trial this time. They know he’s guilty. He might as well have admitted to his crimes the night he’d arrived on the mountain with his army of shadow soldiers and his sword in hand. _Good_ , he thinks. _No more of this._

He’s not afraid, he thinks. His knees are weak as Amaya’s men lead him through the stone passages of the castle, but that’s because of disuse and malnourishment. He’s _not_ afraid, and he won’t give Callum or the elf the satisfaction of even thinking it.

It’s dusk when they finally, _finally_ reach the courtyard. Balan breathes in the air, knowing it’s the last he’ll ever do it, savouring the cold as it fills his lungs. There’s no crowd. Only Ezran on the balcony, with his brother and the elf, and their little mismatched group of friends. 

They watch him with disgust. He can almost see Alys in their faces, the hardness in their eyes so reminiscent of the contempt she’d held for him.

He holds his head high at the sight of them, refusing to bow - refusing to let them believe they’ve won, even as Amaya’s men shove him onto a platform in the middle of the courtyard. Then there’s a bag over his head, and a noose around his neck, and the executioner asks him: “Have you any last words?”

He wants to snort. To laugh at how ludicrous it is that they think he would have any last words for them. But in the darkness of the bag, he sees something else - another face - one that stills his heart and puts ice in his veins.

“Lennart,” he mumbles.

He hears the executioner pause, but it’s not him Balan cares about. It’s the golden haired image of the boy in the material of the bag. His _son_ come to remind him of his failures at last. Something breaks within him. His throat closes. His hands tremble in their binds behind his back. 

 _You did this,_ Lennart whispers sadly. _Those elves didn’t kill me. You did._

“Yes,” Balan mutters, his breath shuddering. “I did.”

The floor falls away.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


x

 

“That’s done, then.”

Ez’s jaw is set. His stomach churns a little in guilt, but he looks at Rayla and the child in her arms and reminds herself of what the dead man in the courtyard had tried to do, and would have done again if anyone had given him the chance. 

Sarai’s a couple of weeks old now, and it had taken him that long to decide for himself that this was the right thing to do. He imagines what the world what might be like if he hadn’t done it. Imagines the future of his niece if she were constantly dogged by fear. This is for the best, he tells himself once more, and he shakes off his guilt and ushers everyone back into the keep.

“...Are you okay?” asks Rayla quietly, setting a hand against his shoulder. She’s wearing the sling Ailas and his family had sent her. Sarai’s fussing in it, and she rolls her eyes at her baby and rubs gently at her back. Motherhood suits her, Ezran thinks, and he reminds himself _again_ that Balan had tried to take this away from her to strengthen his resolve.

“I’m fine,” he says. He takes a breath. “We had to do it. He didn’t give us a choice.”

“You don’t have to pretend that you’re okay about this, Ez.” Callum sets his hand on his shoulder too, a frown set into the corners of his lips. “It’s… a hard decision to make, no matter how much you think that it’s the right thing to do.”

Ez chuckles in spite of himself. “I’ll be okay,” he mumbles. “It’s… part of being King, I guess. Ruling was always gonna be hard. I’m just glad you guys are here to help me with it.”

“Always, bud.” Callum offers him a smile. “If you need anything… if you just want to talk, just say the word. We’ll be here.”

“Actually.” Ez pauses. He looks between them carefully, wondering if this is the right time or place, but sucks in a breath anyway, wanting to clear the issue from his head. “I - uh - I never got you guys anything. For Sarai, I mean. The last few months have been such a mess, and I spent _ages_ trying to find something you guys could use that you didn’t already have, and -”

“Ez.” Rayla makes a face at him. “You didn’t _have_ to get us anything. We don’t need anything else.”

Ez shakes his head. “You need… some time off, I think. From everything. Just to - you know - be a family for a while. And -” He pauses again, but this time he plunges a hand into his pocket to fish out a key. “The Banther Lodge is gone now, but we fixed something else up for you over there. You don’t _have_ to take it but it’s yours if you want it. I thought that… if you ever needed some time away from the castle, or from your jobs as ambassadors, you might want somewhere you can hide away.”

Callum’s still frowning at him, but it’s a different kind of frown now. It’s probably closer to confused than anything else, and Ezran lets out a snort and presses the key into his palm. 

“Just go check it out,” he says. “I promise it’s worth it.”

 

x

 

It’s a cottage. Nothing as big as the Banther Lodge - just a little stone one on the bank of the river. It’s simple - charming, even, with its stumpy chimney and lead lined windows and its waterwheel around the back.

Callum climbs off Vorobey; takes Sarai from Rayla so she can climb off Kuritsa a little easier, and together, they crunch through the fresh fallen snow before Callum unlocks the door to let them in.

The warmth hits them like a brick wall. It’s cozy inside, and furnished comfortably enough without being too over the top. There’s a stock of firewood stacked up against the wall, a cushioned chaise in the living room, even a nursery with a little crib in the room across from - presumably - their own.

Peace and quiet isn’t something Callum’s had time to think much about over the last few months, but now that he’s here, he feels a sigh leave his lips, relieved and _so_ grateful for Ezran’s consideration.

He sags into the chaise, his limbs like lead, Sarai tucked against his chest as Rayla stares around the cottage open-mouthed and breathless.

“This is nice,” she manages in the end.

“Nice is an understatement,” says Callum slumping against the backrest. Gods, they needed this. He just hadn’t realized how much. 

“Oh.” 

Callum blinks. He shuffles against the chaise, leaning his head over the backrest to see Rayla picking a letter deftly off the dining room table. “Is that a letter?”

“I think so?” Rayla clucks her tongue and breaks the seal.

“‘ _To Callum and Rayla,’”_ she reads. _“‘These last few months sucked. I’m sorry that everything got as complicated as it did, and that you had so much to deal with during such a delicate time. Mostly I’m sorry that you guys didn’t get to have your little Moonbeam in peace. All you’ve ever done since you even met is try to make the world a better place, and you both deserve some time to just_ be _, you know? So we fixed up this cottage for you - Aanya wanted to help - you never got her gift, apparently, and a cottage seemed like too big a present from just one person, so think of it as a joint gift from the Kingdoms of Duren and Katolis._

_“Sarai doesn’t know it yet, but she’s the luckiest little girl in the world to have the two of you as parents. You’re both so good, and you’ve barely had her a couple of weeks and already, you’ve gone to hell and back, just to keep her safe. She’ll grow up in a better world than we had because of you. She’ll grow up knowing peace and friendship between elves and humans, and more importantly, she’ll grow up knowing what Dad believed in - that history is a narrative of love._

_“So take some time away. Just be a family for a while. You deserve it._

_“The world can wait for once._

_“Lots of love, Ezran and Aanya.”_

Rayla draws in a breath. She presses her lips together as she rolls the parchment back up and slumps into a dining room chair, a soft sort of peace set into the line of her lips.  She sets the letter down again, blinking at their cottage - their _home_ \- like she doesn’t quite believe that they really _can_ rest now, even if it’s only for a little while.

Callum sighs. “Ez really thought of everything, huh?”

“Yeah,” says Rayla, hiding a smile behind her fingers. “He did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be up in five hours LOL but this came out so smoothly and I'm just so
> 
> E M O T I O N A L
> 
> That we got this far!! Thank you so much for putting up with me, team! Just ONE MORE to bring it home!!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hiding away again, are we?” teases Uncle Ez. “It’s very late, you know. What are the guards going to tell your mom?”

xvi.

  
  


_six years later_

 

Sarai’s seen a lot of the world in her six years. She’s been to the ports in the human city of Varuna; seen the bustling markets in the border town of Fiametta; had picnics with Mum and Dad in the gardens of Aerin - but if she _had_ to pick the place she likes best (not counting Dad’s workshop, of course), then there’s nothing quite like Uncle Ez’s castle.

The other castles in the human kingdoms are okay. She likes the one in Duren a lot - Auntie Aanya’s kitchen staff sneak her cookies when Mum and Dad aren’t looking - but Uncle Ez’s castle is just different. Maybe it's just because she knows it better. There’s always a secret passage to find, or a hidden room to discover, and when Mum and Dad have to travel for a meeting she’s not quite old enough to go to yet, she and Bait while the hours away by playing hide and seek with Lessa and Terryn, or by exploring the castle grounds with Uncle Soren. Sometimes even Uncle Ez joins in - his grin just as sneaky as hers as they dodge guards in the halls and sneak around in the tunnels with jelly tarts stuffed under their shirts - but she likes disappearing on her own too, happy to hide from her tutors and Uncle Ez’s guards with Bait and a couple of books in tow.

She's camped out on top of the North Tower tonight. She likes it up here in the spring - it’s not so hot that her skin becomes sticky with sweat, but not so cold that she needs more than a blanket over her shoulders to be comfortable. There are never too many guards in stairway, (and even when there are, she just uses Moon magic to sneak past them) and the only person who ever finds her up here is Uncle Ez, but she doesn’t mind that at all.

Bait’s glow pleasant - just enough to light up her books and her snacks without drowning out the twinkle of the stars above her head. His forever-frown makes her giggle, and she rubs his forehead affectionately, savouring the peace and quiet before Mum and Dad come back from Neolandia tomorrow evening and all three of them are on the move all over again.

It’s not something she really minds. Sarai _likes_ travelling and exploring and seeing the world - Runaan says she’s a lot like Mum that way; always wandering off or disappearing in search of a new adventure - but sometimes she does wonder what it might be like to just stay in the castle for longer than a couple of weeks. She could explore the tunnels all morning, have lunch everyday with Lessa and Terryn at their dad’s shop, spar with Uncle Soren in the courtyard all afternoon - even have secret sleepovers in the castle library like she’s always wanted.

“That sounds nice, huh, Bait?” she says, pillowing her head over his back, book held precariously over her face. “Maybe Mum and Dad will let me stay the whole summer some time. What do you think?”

Bait rumbles under the back of her head by way of response. It feels funny, and Sarai giggles and turns her page.

When the trapdoor creaks, she lets out a heavy sigh. There’s only one person it can be, and he’s probably here because it’s well past her bedtime. She pouts at Uncle Ez as he climbs onto the landing, not wholly satisfied with her book yet, lilac eyes wide and begging for _just a few more minutes, please Uncle Ez?_ But Uncle Ez only grins and settles against the back of merlon.

“Hiding away again, are we?” he teases. “It’s very late, you know. What are the guards going to tell your mom?”

“They could _not_ tell her.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s going to keep her from finding out that you’ve been awake past your bedtime.”

Sarai snorts. It’s not very lady-like. Some of her tutors might have scolded her for it, but Uncle Ez has never cared and he doesn’t now. She snaps her book shut and rolls over onto her tummy. “Even if she does, she won’t be mad. Runaan always says she was just the same when _she_ was little.”

“You sure about that?”

Sarai pauses because shes’s not. She’s pretty sure of the opposite, actually. Mum _will_ find out (because she _always_ finds out) and she _won’t_ be pleased to hear it. She’ll probably be all frowny and disappointed at dinner tomorrow and Dad said he'll only teach her a new rune if the guards can convince him that she’s been good while they’ve been away. She huffs in the end, hiding her pout behind Bait as Uncle Ez stares her down, his lips tilted in a smirk that knows he’s caught her out.

“Can’t _you_ just tell them I’ve been good?” she whines finally. “They’ll believe _you_.”

“I could,” says Uncle Ez, smirking wider still. “But didn’t you also skip your lessons today? Dunno that that really counts as _good_ …”

Sarai flushes behind Bait, and she presses her face into his side to hide her guilt. 

Uncle Ez chuckles at her. “Tell you what,” she hears him say. “If you go to bed now, and do your lesson tomorrow instead, I’ll personally tell your mom and dad that you’ve been on your best behaviour. They’ll never find out about all the jelly tarts you ate -”

“You _let_ me eat them.”

“- Or the books you _‘borrowed’_ from Opeli -”

“I brought them straight back when I was done!”

“ - Or the prank you pulled on the stablehands -”

“ _That_ was Uncle Soren’s idea!”

Uncle Ez snorts at her. “You still did it though, didn’t you? You didn’t _have_ to scare them with Moon magic.” He's still smirking at her when she looks at him at last, the blue of his eyes bright with amusement even in the poor light. He grins even wider when Bait rumbles under her chin. “ _And_ it’s past your bedtime too! Thank you, Bait.”

“ _Bait_!” Sarai sits up with a scowl, her blanket pooling around her waist as she fixes a glare on the grumpy glow toad at her knees. She groans, her argument lost. “ _Please_ don’t make me go to bed yet, Uncle Ez. I don’t want it to be tomorrow yet. We’ll have to go again.”

Uncle Ez cocks his head at her, his eyebrows knitting together a little in his confusion. “Don’t you want to visit Auntie Claudia in Lantha?”

“I _do_ , but -”  She sighs, and her voice drops to a mumble. “I don’t like going away all the time, either.”

Uncle Ez lets out a laugh. Just a little one. It sounds almost sad. “I get that,” he says quietly. There’s fondness in his smile, and as much as he likes to tease her, in her head, Sarai thinks that he likes having her in the castle just as much as she likes being here. There’s no one else he can get in and out of so much trouble with except maybe Auntie Aanya, but she rarely visits so she hardly counts at all. “How about a story?” he offers finally. “Will you go to bed after that?”

Sarai purses her lips. “Maybe," she grumbles. "If it’s a good story.”

“I think it’s a good one,” says Uncle Ez. “It’s a love story. Your mom and dad’s even. Have you heard that properly?”

“Properly?”

“Yeah.” Uncle Ez nods eagerly at her, his fingers scratching absently under Bait’s chin. “Not the way your dad tells it. He’s really bad at telling it. I tell it better because I tell it as, like, an actual story. Does that sound good?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t heard it yet.” 

Her sass makes him laugh. It reminds her a little of Dad’s in the way that it echoes in the still night air, and in the end, he heaves Bait into his lap, shuffles around on the flagstones, and reaches for her blanket so he can toss it over both their legs. “Let’s see then,” he begins. “It’s not like it was a bad idea. I thought it was a well thought-out, completely reasonable, perfectly sound idea, to be honest. Would have solved a lot of my problems, and your dad’s problems, and Katolis’ problems in one go.”

“What was the idea?” Sarai asks, her eyes wide and curious.

“An arrangement,” says Uncle Ez with a smile. “A delicate one.”

 

 

 

_the end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP GUYS, I finished ANOTHER fic! For those who don't know, I have horrendous problems in terms of committing to long-form fics like this so y'all have no idea how amazing it is that I finished a SECOND FIC in a TIMELY MANNER. 
> 
> I have a [big ass thank you note on tumblr](https://jellyjay.tumblr.com/post/186677437396/a-delicate-condition-some-notes) just like last time, but in the case that you don't have time for all that, thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments and kudos!!! You guys have been nothing but amazing, and I can't thank you enough for your support!!
> 
> Wanna see what else I've been working on? [Check out my attempt at some original fiction](https://jelly-writes-awtf.tumblr.com/post/186602535282/a-preview)! This is a kind of novel thing, there _will_ be more of it - I'm just kinda getting it set up.
> 
> Thanks again for your support team! Can't wait to write for you again soon!!
> 
> Til next fic!  
> \- Jelly


End file.
